This is another lore heavy chapter. I will elaborate on things in the end notes. HOWEVER, if you are not caught up on the new lore revealed in the Beyond Light expansion, be warned: there will be spoilers. Read the end notes at your own risk.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextHer heart was hammering—slamming against her ribs, and Eris hunched over in pain. Her mind a storm raging with unfortunate truths, images of something terrible that she could not turn away from.
A whisper, a cold breath. A repeated command:
"Look! LOOK!"
And she had no choice but to do as she was told.
"You had asked. You had begged. Now—you try to turn away?"
She could not argue, for in all the lies it had ever spoken...there was truth. A pin-prick of gospel she could not blaspheme against.
The night had been long...longer still as she made her way through the cold and the dark of space. Curled upon herself in the cockpit of a ship that stank of Hive. Choking on the pain and the overwhelming sorrow she could not quell. Those dreams...those nightmares! Playing out over and over again!
I can't breathe!
Hand upon her chest, teeth gritted and eyes burning something fierce, she coughed and breathed as deeply as she could. An attempt to self-soothe, to reclaim herself.
I am in control—I command myself!
A laugh inside her head.
QUIET!
How dare it be so cruel! After all she had done for it! She wasn't sure how much longer she could hold on.
It had begun with the fireflies.
The amber glow of specks that floated up and away—all around her in the night.
But Eris knew the truth. They were not in fact fireflies.
Whispers. Tears. The ones who would not see the truth, floating away like dust brushed from a mantelpiece. Fools...it would be sad if it were not so pathetic, but Eris Morn had no tears to shed, and no more heart to ache for them.
Standing on the steps of a conquered sanctuary, no longer the chancel of those who served the Light. It was once her home. No more.
The wind tore at her, as she looked upon the multitudes; at the ones who had laid down their arms. They stood before her, frightened, confused—and she could feel the collective trembling of their forms shake the very stones beneath her feet.
And OH! How glorious it felt!
No longer did she hide beneath layers of textile. No more did she wrap her skull and cover her eyes. She stood before them all, completely bare. Green eyes that pierced through the dark, wearing a crown of spikes and thorns upon her head, fabrics woven from the shadows themselves—alive and creeping about her body in a liquid gown of sentience, and upon her throat...a necklace made of Widow's Tears.
What a sight she was!Human, Cabal, Fallen, and Awoken. The half-breeds, the monsters, the forgotten people of insignificant worlds that hung like baubles in the universe. The Hive themselves. All staring at the savage beauty that was Eris Morn. Their conqueror. Their queen. Their salvation—but only if they accepted the truth.
That glowing orb in her hand—chuckling. Congratulating her.
"Serve me." She addressed the people gently, for there was no need to raise her voice in command, "Worship me...Love me."
The scent of ash and burning ember. Of fuel and gunpowder. Of magic and fear. The air was strong with it all. That breeze that teased her hair, the cold of the ink that moved across her skin. Locks in-tangling in the crown upon her head, and the chitin she had traded her life for so long ago.
"Do so...and you shall live forever." Such a promise, "I will set you free."
And she meant it.
A hush had fallen upon the world, as one by one, they all fell to their knees and bowed their heads low to honor her. Resistance no longer an option, and though it was fear that drove them to surrender, Eris Morn knew that in time, they would come to thank her; for she was kind and merciful.
Her eyes that saw so much regarded them all. Many faces she recognized prostrating themselves before her, vowing to love her as she requested. But there was one in particular...one she could not find...
Her eyes scanning, seeking, but finding no sign of him. The one who had told her stories beautiful beyond compare. The one who had uttered secrets and revealed mysteries...who had spoken of love...whispering such unbridled passion into her ear that it made the very stars rain down upon her. The one who had killed her softly with every breath...
The man made of fire—he was not among them.
She had shot awake, fear gripping her tightly as she gasped, clawing at the blanket she slept beneath. Flailing out of her bed and onto the floor, she had sat in petrification, panting for breath, eyes wide in terror. It had been a dream. A nightmare. It wasn't real...it hadn't been real—and yet, she could still smell the death and the destruction.
What am I seeing? WHY am I seeing this?!
This had been the fourth night—the same image for four nights! It meant something...an omen? A warning? A trick? She most certainly could not rule out the notion, however, it did not change the terror and the anguish she was assaulted with. Knees pulled to her chest, hands shaking violently as hyperventilation began to seize her lungs. She had to stop! Had to breathe and calm herself! Total and absolute panic had taken her, and she fought back as hard as she could. But it was difficult...so very difficult to be alone in these times. Through the years, she had discovered ways to keep herself grounded, to pull herself back when she began to fall into oblivion, but—
This...this is different.
Help. She needed help!
Her whole body shaking, teeth chattering and lungs struggling for air, as she slowly came down onto her hands and knees; beginning an agonizing crawl towards her nightstand—towards her data pad...the tool for her salvation.
Please...oh please...
A whimper was rising up inside her, and she imagined that she must look as a pathetic as she felt. Scrawny little thing crawling upon the floor...
"In the filth and the dust where you belong. You are made of Moondust..."
That horrible voice! Whispering from the pack she had sealed it away in, across her tiny hut upon Luna.
"Moondust..."
Be silent!
She continued to crawl, slow-going and painful against her bones.
"Moondust..."
Using that name...that name to taunt her!
"Moondust..."
Her blood ran cold, as the whisper shifted, taking on a new tone. One of playfulness; a raspy drawl— his voice.
How dare it— HOW DARE IT!
Whipping her head to look over her shoulder, her entire body tense in barely contained fury, as she directed it towards the pouch that hung from the back of her only chair.
"SHUT-THE-HELL-UP!" She screamed. Screamed util her vocal cords strained, "I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR INSOLENCE! DON'T YOU DARE MOCK ME!"
Panting. Trembling. The outburst left her weaker than before, having unleashed all the energy she possessed inside. Her arms buckled beneath her, and with as much force as she could muster, Eris shoved with all her might, pressing up through her shoulders; catching herself before her face could hit the floor. The musty scent of moon soil and concrete striking her nose, nearly causing her to sneeze.
It was too much. All too much...and she whimpered at the unfairness of it all.
...why?...why me?...
She hadn't asked for any of this. To be a slave to a cause that tormented every moment of her broken life. To be the lending ear to a cosmic imperium. And yet...it was true that she had placed herself at the forefront of everything— of her own volition, and in this acknowledgement of her egomaniacal desire to play the hero...she had come to accept a truth about herself.
I am mad.
Forever indebted to an ancient deceiver. She had lost her light, and as such, had not known how to survive without it. What a fool she was! What a coward and a fraud! She fought. She fought so hard to stay sane, but a sob escaped her and she squeezed her eyes shut. Trying to will it all away.
"Do you know how glorious it is to be plain? To live a simple life?"
The Drifter's words flowed back to her, and she felt longing for that joy he had once known. Why couldn't things have been different? She could have found a way...like him.
A deep breath to steady herself, and she began to crawl once more, reaching the nightstand on still shaking hands and knees. It took all her effort to reach up and pull the data pad into her grasp; nearly dropping it in the process.
I need Asher...I need to speak with Asher!
She needed to talk with him! To tell him about her dream! Asher would know what to say...he would know what she should do! And so, with shaking hands, she scrolled through the contacts upon her device; quickly putting a call through to Asher's channel.
Beeping. Again, and again.
No answer.
She let it go on, continuing to hail him. He had to answer...had to,for Asher always answered her calls.
Asher...where are you?
TheBeeping of her hail continued without disruption. Her jaw beginning to tremble, breath hitching in her throat. Her friend...her dearest friend was not answering...
Why?! Why won't he answer?!
Then a sob escaped her, one filled with desperation.
"Please...please, Asher, please!" Her voice a whisper, choking on the pain that sat heavy in her throat.
Nothing.
It was like a knife cutting into her chest. Severing the final string of hope she had left.
...alone...alone...ALONE!
A quick shout of pure anguish passed her lips, and she raised the data pad to hurl it against the wall. An expression that would release the rage boiling inside her —but she stopped; enough self-control slipping through the cracks. Impulsive. So impulsive...she felt shame beginning to drown the dejection.
What purpose would it serve to shatter her only connection to the outside? No. How foolish to isolate herself further, and with that thought, she brought the device to rest upon her lap; severing the call.
Silence became her world once more.
What do I do?
Shaking almost violently, her fingers tightening in a death grip upon the pad in her lap.
What do I do now?!
Calm. Be calm.
She needed to focus, needed to find relief. Counting down her fingers and toes –
20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11—
It wasn't working—it no longer worked! Teeth gritted against the wracking sobs that shook her violently, and she tilted her head back, smacking it repeatedly into the wall behind her.
Make it stop! Make it stop!
Hiccups, spittle that fell from her lips as she wailed.
Someone pleeeeeease! HELP MEEEE!
And then— everything went still.
Her mind fell silent. The tremors in her body subsided. Calm—eerily so.
She felt nothing, staring straight ahead into the shadows of her room. Seated upon the floor in abnormal stillness...as though someone had flipped a switch. And in this abrupt moment of clarity, Eris began to watch herself once more. That feeling of floating, leaving her body to see herself brush her fingers along the screen of her device; automatic, trance-like.
Selecting a tab. Opening a channel. Then the Beeping began again.
A hail into space—reaching out to touch someone, lasting only seconds before they picked up—
"Yeah, Moondust?" A growl and a sigh over the speaker alerted Eris that she had just stirred The Drifter from slumber.
An iota of guilt tingled in her head, but she was not deterred from the request she was about to make—
She opened her mouth...but found she could not speak.
A pause.
"Hello?" He sounded annoyed, "Ya there, Three-Eyes, or did ya pocket dial me?"
What should she say? What did she even want from him?
Her lips moved, but produced no sound. Weak. Broken.
Oh please...please give me the strength!
An exhausted sigh spilled forth from her device, she could hear him rustling about in the sheets of his own bed, "Okay, I'm hangin' up—"
"I need to see you."
Finding her voice at last, she cut him off.
"Huh?" His confusion was clear to her ears, most likely stirring him into further wakefulness.
She swallowed, heart rising into her throat, "May I..." She swallowed, "May I please come to you?"
A pause.
"Now?"
"Yes." It came out a squeak, and she swallowed back her shame.
Pathetic. So pathetic.
What did it matter?
Another pause, this one longer than before, and Eris' blemished mind began to worry all the more—would he abandon her too?
"Yeah, okay...um..." He cleared his throat, "I'm in orbit over the EDZ."
A rush of warmth, the shock of joy, and Eris froze at his words. He hadn't turned her away, he would allow her to come—and her heart ached all the more.
"Thank you." A whisper, and then she let him go.
Now, Eris was docked in the hangar of The Derelict, trapped inside the confines of her own ship, as the panic and torment took hold of her once more. The ancient bastard whispering awful things to her from the confines of its cage! Sitting at her hip, speaking lamentable truths...oh, how she wished she could crush it in her palm! Silence it forever!
"Be quiet!" She hissed, "Cease your frivolous banter and leave me in peace!"
Hands shaking once more, as she brought them to her face. Adding pressure to the sides of her head.
Breathe. Breathe.
"Silly little girl."
A whisper in her mind.
"Seeking out those things in which you have no business. Have you learned nothing?"
Truth. Reality. She had indeed been taught a gruesome lesson long ago.
"You have been given a chance. You have been given the power."
No!
"These dreams of yours..."A shudder, much like a chuckle in its dreadful voice,"They hold a promise—"
"NO!" She shrieked, hands forming into fists to come crashing down upon the instrument panel, "SHUT-UP! I WILL NOT LISTEN TO YOU! LIAR! WRETCH!"
Another slam of her fists to emphasize her point.
"I AM NOT SO WEAK AS TO FALL PREY TO SUCH GUILE!"
She growled like an animal backed into a corner, shoulders trembling violently as she hunched forward. Panting for breath as the last reserves of her strength departed. Fatigue weighing down upon her. Too much to bear! But her mind was quickly shifting into another matter altogether—
How long had she been sitting there?
In all the turmoil, she had lost all concept of time. In fact— she didn't remember arriving at The Derelict at all!
What happened?
Eris blinked, allowing a small amount of clarity to reclaim her. When had she arrived? How long had she been docked? This realization that she had lost time...lost all awareness of her surroundings sent another wave of anxiety through her.
This was certainly not the first time this had happened— Once, not long after she had awoken from comatose, she had been sitting upon the floor of her Tower apartment, the morning sun pouring in through the window, as she was caught up in the throes of tormented memories. She had been sobbing, staring ahead at the small bookshelf she kept, when suddenly she had found herself standing on a sidewalk in the financial district of the City. Night had fallen, and try as she might, Eris could not recall how she had come to be there, and what had transpired in those lost hours of the day. It was terrifying, and she had quickly made her way back to the Tower, speaking to Asher of it the following day. The Warlock had suggested several explanations, but it had done little to put her at ease.
She had done it another time as well. Cayde-6 and Amanda Holliday had been the ones to find her—about to step off the roof of the hangar to her death. She had snapped back to reality when Amanda had screamed, and Cayde had blinked to her side, grabbing her in a vice-like grip and yanking her back from the edge. Disoriented and confused, Eris had panicked and struck the Hunter Vanguard who hadn't flinched at all to her blind attack. Instead, he managed to grab her flailing arms, pinning them to her sides as he held her in a bear hug; speaking firmly in her ear for her to calm down. Amanda had rushed forward, rapidly firing questions about whether she was alright and if they needed to get a medic.
It had taken a good while for Eris to return to herself, and during that time, Cayde had sat with her upon the rooftop. Arms holding her still, pulling her back against his chest in a gesture of comfort. He had allowed her to take her time—no complaints, no disrespectful remarks, no inappropriate jokes...no, he had been kind, patient and understanding. Something she had never seen in him before.
The Exo had never known...Cayde had never known how grateful she was for him saving her that day. For sitting with her all through the evening. He never knew...
Now, sitting in the cockpit of her ship, this would be the third time if she remembered correctly...but Eris had a strange feeling it was actually one of a dozen.
Tap! Tap!
She jumped at the sudden noise, head whipping up to see a red eye looking in on her through the windshield. Chim-Ung...
Relief washed over Eris at the sight of the little Ghost, a sense of comfort falling upon her at the mere sight of him. He had come to see if she was alright, tapping gently upon the glass to coax her back into the now.
It was enough...just enough.
Unfortunately, with this awakening came total clarity of the situation in which she had found herself.
Oh no...no...NO!
Looking down, she realized what she had done—
Hands ungloved, no armor, her cloak haphazardly pulled upon her head with a veil to cover her eyes—sloppy, so very careless! In her haste and desperation, she had not taken the time to dress herself properly before departing! Glancing down further, she saw her bare feet and blanched—she hadn't even pulled on her shoes! This was bad...this was so very bad! Half-dressed and shaking in madness—she could not let him see her this way! Then it struck her—her senses suddenly coming alive with the smell of dust, of sweat and Hive, and her heart sank when she realized it wasn't her ship that stank—it was her.
Oh God!
She was filthy! Half-dressed and reeking!
No! No, no! She couldn't let him see her like this!
Should she leave? Start the engine and fly away? She could just—
"Moondust?"
Too late.
She could hear him through the glass, and after a moments pause, she turned to see The Drifter standing upon the catwalk; gazing out at her with a look of absolute confusion. Brows furrowed in an expression that could read as worry.
"What're ya doin'?" He called out.
How long has he been standing there?
He looked...different. A slouched beanie upon his head where his bandana usually sat, hands stuffed into the pockets of a simple cargo jacket—trying to keep warm in the cold. It was terribly cold outside—the sky still dark in the early hours before dawn...
Oh...how awful I am...
She had pulled him from his bed in the freezing night! If she left...if she turned around now...it would be the most cruel and inconsiderate thing she could do. But still— she was not presentable.
What do I do? What do I say?
Panic rising as she tried to fight back with deep steady breaths, her eyes shifting towards Chim-Ung once more, as the Ghost cocked his shell in an inquisitive manner.She had requested their company, shehad been the one to disrupt their harmony.
She couldn't leave.
Her hands shaking as she raised them, popping the airlock open with a Hiss!Her mind racing, trying to find an excuse...to find a distraction...
I can't face him like this!
"Ya alright?"
Her eyes darting back to the man, watching her carefully and with a whit of suspicion. She often forgot just how observant he could be, and even if her behavior wasn't so flagrantly strange—he still would have sensed the turmoil. For all the skill she had developed in impassivity, she had yet to fool this man. His question still lingering in her head.
What do I say? The truth?
Her anxiety was relentless, keeping her mind in turmoil. Unfocused, losing discipline.
I need...I need...
Her breath shuddering as she wrung her hands in her lap.
"I need..." Her lips moved, but nothing else came forth.
What? What the hell do I need?
She needed clarity. She needed perspective.
"I...need..." Voice shaking, something breaking inside—
She needed liberation.
She gasped and shuddered as a sudden sensation of vertigo fell upon her, and her hand shot up to press against her head. Breathing deeply—
"Please..." She choked, unsure if he heard her from his distance, "I...need..."
She needed him.
Fading in and out. Head spinning. The smell of her clothes, the feeling of dust and grime upon her skin—she was so disgusting!
I am filth!
Humiliation on the line, she blurted out—
"I need to use your shower." Her words came in a flurry, nearly a bark of sound, and she froze when she realized what she had just said. It wasn't what she had meant to say, but it was the truth. She could feel the oils and the grease upon her skin. The sweat that had stuck to her hair and embedded itself into her skin...the dust smeared upon her face.
She obviously had fallen nose blind at some point, but now—she could smell herself!
How awful!
She glanced The Drifter's way, heart hammering in her chest as she waited for...something—anything! But he simply stared back.
Did he hear me?
It was shameful—so shameful.
"Please," She swallowed, trying again, "May I please use your shower?"
Even from where she sat, she could see his gaze narrow and take on a dissecting air. He was studying her—analyzing the situation, and she watched a puff of steam escape his lips as he opened his mouth.
"Sure, hun."
He spoke so pointedly, his tone almost suggesting that she needn't ask, and there was something about that...something that made her tremble harder and her distress to rise. Since when had he opened the rest of his ship to her? It didn't matter. She needed to be clean—needed to wash away that which was consuming her.
Perhaps in cleansing herself literally, she would purify herself figuratively.
He had led her deeper into The Derelict. Down corridors, and across stairways she had never contemplated, and in her mad haze, she was able to draw enough lucidity to understand how large his ship actually was. Too large for a single person.
How does he possibly keep it operatable without a crew?
Frankly, she was too tired, and too distressed to ask, and so, let the thought go.
He had led her to the washroom—an open stall with a simple shower head, and after pointing out a jar of soap she could use and giving her a fresh towel, he left her to it.
Now, Eris sat upon the shower floor, knees drawn to her chest, and arms wrapped about them; trying to lock in as much security as she could. allowing the water to rain upon her, and despite it being much hotter than what was preferably safe, Eris simply didn't care.
It allowed her to feel something. Something external.
Her mind wandering in a hundred directions. Wrestling with logic and reason against the emotional mess she had swept under the proverbial rug. Too long had she left it there to rot.
And now—here she was.
Tilting her head down, trying to protect her third eye from the water, she allowed herself to slip into a relaxed condition—or at least try as best she could.
Listening...feeling...focusing.
The rapid Pat! Pat! Pat! of the water striking the floor—it sounded similar to rain.
The steam permeating the air – like the fog of a coastline.
She breathed in the humidity, let it flood her senses, allowing some semblance of healing to take place. But only for a moment—she would not waste his time nor his water. She needed to wash away the filth—scrub away the feelings of self-revulsion. God, how she hated her body! So damaged, so ugly!
Stop! Stop...focus!
She raised her head, glancing about for the jar of soap The Drifter had given her permission to use, and she spied it upon the floor beneath the shower head. With an ache in her legs and hips, she pushed herself onto all fours, and crawled across the shower; taking it in hand. A simple jar with no label— it was homemade for sure, and similar to molasses in appearance, and as she twisted the lid free, her senses were assaulted with an earthy smell. His smell.
So...it's his soap I've detected.
That smell...of earth after it rained. It had come from this.
What a simple thing it is...
She took a portion in hand, beginning with her hair, and as her fingers began to rub the grease and the oil she had allowed to build up for too long—they struck against the horrible reminder of her reality. Cringing at herself. At the chitin that had formed along her skull—
Goddammit...GODDAMMIT!
Hands trembling as fingers came to clutch at the hair in her scalp. Trying to hold on—hold on to anything as the tremors returned in full force.
Don't think—don't think about any of it!
Once, not too long ago to be precise, there had been a meeting between Ikora and herself in the Tower, and after watching the Warlock fidget and turn away from her several times, Eris had finally demanded to know what was bothering the Vanguard. Ikora had eventually blurted out that she could no longer endure her, and had stated none to subtly, that Eris was in desperate need of a bath.
It had hurt. It had been a blow to her pride, but Eris realized that her friend was indeed correct. However, so furious and embarrassed was she, that she had done something terribly foolish—She had angrily taken a knife in hand and attempted to remedy the situation for good—and proceeded to violently remove all the hair from her body. She had practically flayed her legs, and the long hair she had spent centuries growing down to her hips was hacked away; leaving a choppy and bloody pixie behind. She had nicked the small protrusions that had formed upon her skull...those deformities that had sprouted forth when she...when that bastardhad given her the key to her liberation.
It was a horrific scene, and she had marred herself terribly. The healing scabs itching and pulling uncomfortably. It had been such a senseless thing to do, and Eris had instantly regretted it. Now, her hair had grown back somewhat—reaching just below her chin, and the scars upon her legs had begun to fade.
Never again.
And yet...she still despised what she saw.
She took more soap in hand and began to scrub at her flesh, flinching at the sensation of every bone that lay too shallow beneath her skin—
Oh..how awful!
Trembling in realization—as she looked down at herself.
Anemic skin stretched tightly over bone that protruded viciously at her ribs, elbows and knees. Sunken flesh over her pelvis, and tendons clearly seen with each twitch of her fingers and toes.
She was sickly...so very feeble in appearance!
Her breath quickened, acknowledging how foolish she had been.
"You need to eat! Your behavior in regards to nutritional intake has now traversed the line of ludicrous negligence!" Asher's bold accusation."Eris," Ikora's gentle and worried tone, "Have you made time for a meal?"
Each and every time they had commented, criticized—
"Hey Creepy! Wanna get lunch? My treat!" Even Cayde had judged the situation and tried to mettle.
"I am fine, I assure you!"Had been her chant. Over, and over, and over again!
"Eris, would you consider meeting with a doctor? Hear what they may have to offer?" Zavala trying so hard to help, but lacking the ability to truly be earnest.
How she had hated them all for it!
But now—
Breath hitching as the water cascaded over her languid skin...the filth evident in the water that struck the floor and rolled down the drain.
Too caught up in her research. In the tedious makings of her personal agenda—to have revenge, to find a cure for her traumatized mind! She hadn't seen what they all observed:
A woman wasting away before their very eyes. Neglecting her basic needs. Indirectly suicidal in a sense.
She didn't bathe, she didn't eat, she slept only when she could no longer stand. An existence that had slipped into psyche and abandoned the physical.
It's the way it had been for so long—so very long now...but—
She froze as a thought struck her—a sudden realization.
No one had ever succeeded in their attempts to rehabilitate her. To get her to eat, or sleep—except him.
Folding her hands and bringing them to her chest, in an attempt to steady herself, she shook at the recognition that The Drifter had been the one feeding her for nearly three years. She ate only with him, and slept easily after departing. A terrifying notion. A strange psychological bafflement.
Why is this so?
No, she would not look into it too deeply.
Back to the matter at hand, she brought more soap to scrub at her legs, but halted when an embarrassing matter came to her attention—
How long has it been since I shaved?!
In the grand scheme of things, it really didn't matter. Eris had been determined to never let any living being look upon her—but there was something about hair that disgusted her so. Perhaps it was due to the hair follicles ability to trap bacteria and produce terrible aromas...maybe it was because she hated how it felt. But regardless of the reason, she felt all the dirtier for it.
On her legs, beneath her arms—No! It had to go!
She rose on shaking legs, and stumbled half hunched to where she had discarded her clothes and her bag beside the entryway. Flipping a strap beside the pouch, she drew her blade and stumbled as carefully as she could back to the shower.
Her knife would have to do. It was sharp enough to fulfill its purpose, and she wasted no time in ridding herself of the offensive fiber upon her being.
Surely, she felt all the better for it.
Several minutes more of making sure that no spot had been missed, and Eris was satisfied. Shutting off the water, wringing the damp from her hair, and wrapping a towel about her form for modesty, she had dragged her still fatigued form towards the entrance—only to halt when she realized that her clothes were missing.
Oh...oh no...No! No!
They were gone. So was her bag!
It wasn't a mystery—there was only two other beings onboard, and she was certain that only one of them had the audacity to swoop in and snatch away her clothing when she was in the shower. All her garments—
She blanched.
Her undergarments! He had taken those too! Oh, she had never been so embarrassed in her entire life!
He was a dead man walking.
That bastard! I need my clothes!
Trembling hands clutched the towel at her breast, anxiety rising at the notion that she would have to exit the room with not but a towel to cover herself. Why would he do this to her?!
Mind racing with scenarios, strategies that could potentially lead her to her proper attire without compromising her modesty. But each and every one ended the same: with Eris becoming lost within the bowels of The Derelict—cold and nude. She hadn't thought the night could be any worse for her, and yet—here she was. What to do?! What to—
And then everything abruptly ended when she spotted a small parcel of clothing folded neatly at the door.
Did he...did he leave me some of his clothes?
Stepping forward, kneeling for further inspection— and sure enough, a plain black t-shirt accompanied by army green cargos lay in waiting for her usage. He hadn't left her without compensation. Still though—what of her cloak and veil? This was the true source of her anxiety, not so much the loss of garb. For without them, she could not hide her shame. With clothes to borrow, she could utilize the towel until her cloak and veil were returned. Yes, it would have to do for now, and so, she quickly dressed—realizing that though The Drifter was smaller in stature for a man, he still had a broader build than she, and with her emaciated frame—the fit was even more relaxed.
Rolling the cuffs of the legs as best she could to keep from tripping, she pulled the straps upon the waistband as tightly as she could, before resorting to an old trick: rolling the band itself three times so it sat upon her hips. Acceptable.
Then, with towel draped upon her head, she took a breath—counting down on twitching fingers:
5, 4, 3, 2, 1—
She stepped out the door and into the walkway. Cold air striking her, chasing away the heat from the steam that leaked out behind her. Red met her green, and she startled at the sight of Chim-Ung hovering before the door. The Ghost chirped in greeting, and Eris quickly ducked her head; pulling the towel a little lower.
Has he been waiting for me?
Glancing as best she could from beneath the linen, she spied his little eye trying to catch hers again, an air of confusion within its posturing. No! She didn't want the little light to see!
"Forgive me, Chim-Ung," She swallowed, "But I wish not to be seen."
The briefest of pauses, and the Ghost released a gentle Trill! It's eye turning away from her in a respectful gesture.
"Thank you." She offered her gratitude, before continuing, "So, the Rat-Man took my clothes, I presume?"
She was able to catch the nod from the Ghost, along with his Chirp! And with a light sweeping gesture, she determined that Chim-Ung was motioning for her to follow him. The Ghost creeping further to the left, as its eye remained locked upon her; holding her attention for so as to grant her proper guidance.
"Ah, so you're my guide back?" She tried to form a smile, but her paranoia about the position of the towel kept her good humor tightly leashed.
True, she was relaxed in the presence of the Ghost— Chim-Ung was always a welcome sight, but the sheer aberration of the events this night were still seeping into the cracks within Eris; threatening to expand and shatter her. With shambling steps, she followed after her little guide. Slow-going and honestly, a bit hindered, Eris navigated as best she could within the parameters the material upon her head afforded her.
Thankfully, Chim-Ung set his pace in a courteous fashion, keeping close enough that she could follow his direction without having to compromise her makeshift cover. Kind and considerate, she felt a lull falling upon her at the nature of The Drifter's Ghost, and her gratitude was stronger than before. If only she could do something for the Ghost. A favor...a gesture of how much she appreciated his amiable manner.
Perhaps a gift?
What would she gift a Ghost? And would his Chosen have anything to say about it? She nearly scoffed out loud—who cared what the Drifter thought.
Down corridors, across catwalks and stairwells, Chim-Ung led her on a winding path back towards the living area, and as the entry way loomed ever closer, Eris felt the rush of anxiety anew. Hands closing into fists to still her nerves as she stepped through the archway—slow, dragging feet meeting the rug, and she nearly tripped as one of the rolled cuffs of her pants slipped down to her ankle. A small groan in her throat, she grabbed the fabric of the thighs a bit aggressively and hoisted them up; trying not to fall and break her neck. That's the last thing she needed.
The Drifter wasn't there. She couldn't hear him, nor see him when she peered out from beneath the towel. But she did spy her pouch—the bag that kept her eternal tormentor concealed—hanging over the back of her assigned seat. But she did not spy her clothes.
Dammit.
She had at least hoped her cloak would be there.
A light Chirp! drew her attention back to the Ghost, and with his mission now fulfilled, Chim-Ung left her side; floating back to his sanctuary upon the sofa.
Noises from the kitchen area alerted her to The Drifter's presence, and she shuffled forward, taking her customary seat at the table to await his appearance. She could hear the Clink! of ceramic on metal, and she wondered if perhaps he was making himself some coffee.
How late is it?
Guilt flooding her once more, and the idea that she was being terribly inconvenient began to gnaw away at her mind.
I won't stay long.
No, she would offer him explanation, and remove herself as quickly as possible. She wouldn't monopolize his time, especially so abruptly and in the middle of the night.
Why did I come here in the first place?
An excellent question. Why had she fled to The Drifter? Surely, her dreams would mean nothing to him, and in all fairness, was not something that concerned him in the least. This is why she had never spoken to Ikora or Asher of such things. Already had they endured her traumatic outbursts, and listened to her mad ramblings of shadows, voices and things that went bump-in-the-night.
But there were other things...dreams, nightmares...memories...
No...they must never know!
There were some things she could never tell them. Things she never wanted them to know. For if they did—oh, how they would despise her.
Looks of pity. Looks of disgust. Judgement—jaded positions about her very existence. She could not bear the thought of her two closest and cherished friends seeing her with new eyes. It would destroy that which still stood inside of her. But The Drifter...
Does he not factor into anything? Do I not long for his respect the way I do for Ikora's and Asher's?
Wait...
And with that, Eris had an epiphany—
That wasn't it at all, no...she did not feel he was insignificant to her life, nor did she feel he was merely a buffer she could unleash her agony upon.
He is...he is...
What? The truth—
She valued his opinion, his thoughts and his help more highly than any other person's. For he, unlike all the others, truly understood.
Asher had indeed suffered a similar loss. The loss of comrades, the loss of honor—losing one's dignity and self-identity. He knew, he understood those things. She could speak to him so simply and it would not fall upon deaf ears... but with The Drifter...
It went beyond understanding. It went far deeper.
With him...
Oh, what words could even describe what it was that drew her? Meretricious. She had called him that once, it had been fitting at the time, but now...she felt the word was not correctly used. It wasn't his demeanor that drew her in like it did the more feeble minded of the City. Those Guardians who engaged in his little illegal venture—his Gambit. So naïve. So greedy and corrupt. They saw the meretricious façade—the one she had been greatly mistaken about.
That wasn't the truth. It wasn't reality.
What drew her...was the fact that with him—
I am just...me.
She was simply Eris Morn.
The Clack! of something being laid to rest upon a countertop drew Eris back into the present. Glancing up from beneath her makeshift veil, she noticed that something was...different about the place. A second passed as her eyes moved over everything, and surprise grew when she noticed the living area was much cleaner than usual. Clearly, he had found the time to tidy up a bit, and through the ache of her own mental anguish, she found a clear enough moment to be a bit impressed. But more than likely, he had left it all for Chim-Ung to execute. Yes, that sounded much more accurate.
Footsteps approaching from the kitchen, and Eris quickly adjusted the towel upon her head to ensure she was not in jeopardy of being exposed. Her heart having skipped a beat for a moment in nervous anticipation, she breathed in deeply through her nose to combat the minute rise in anxiety. Head tilted down, gazing upon the hands folded in her lap, she caught sight of dark brown fabric in her peripherals, and a pair of bare tattooed feet coming to stand beside her chair. She didn't move, didn't look up for fear that her barrier would slip away, and he would see the real her. She could not allow anyoneto see her.
A pause.
"Ohh-kay..." He muttered with a suspicious tone, and Eris knew he was commenting upon the towel.
She would be lying if she said she wasn't the least bit embarrassed about it. But she could save face—who gave a damn what it looked like draped over her head?
"Where's my cloak?" She was direct, for the cloak was the most important thing she needed in this moment.
"In the wash with the rest of your clothes." His answer was just as blunt.
She blinked, "You are washing my clothes?"
"Yeah," He scoffed, "They were filthy, or didn't ya notice?"
Eris could feel her face reddening. He was sounding like Ikora.
"I need my cloak." She was firm, but of course, that sort of tone wouldn't get very far with him. She still questioned why she even wasted her time.
"Too bad, sistah. Ya gonna have to wait."
A Clink! as he sat something upon the table, and Eris chanced a glance; finding a mug resting before her with rising steam.
"There's a little bourbon in that." He indicated lazily, "I gotta feelin' ya need it, trust?"
He turned away, and she could hear him sipping at a drink of his own as he made his way to his own seat. She sat a little straighter—all the better to stare down into the dark liquid he had laid before her.
Coffee?
She sniffed—No, it didn't smell like coffee. What had he made?
"What is this?" She cleared the frog from her throat, nose scrunching.
"A drink." He plopped onto his chair, sitting his own drink upon the table, with that eternal smirk of his directed right at her.
No. Not tonight.
She would not be goaded into any bickering, she was already standing on the precipice of a complete collapse. She needed calm. She needed consideration. So, Eris ignored him, taking the mug in hand with twitchy fingers, bringing it to her lips.
It's chocolate.
The creamiest, sweetest chocolate she had ever tasted. There's honey in it as well, and the slight sensation of charred vanilla—the bourbon. There's a leap in her chest as the burn of the drink makes its way down her throat, and she feels something in that moment. Clarity...something oddly comforting and familiar. Like coming home after being away for too long. It was good. She liked it, and she was grateful to him.
"This is divine," She swallowed another sip, "Thank you."
"Hm." He sighed, exhaustion clearly lacing his tone, "It was my specialty in the Guard."
She clutched the mug in both hands, letting the heat seep into her fingers and palms as she glanced up at his words; a question upon her lips. Distraction. Change of pace. Yes, small talk was what she needed. But when she caught sight of the man who sat before her, her inquiry died in her throat. Like she, he was without his armor, without his layers of garb, and Eris felt regret falling upon her.
I really have pulled him from his sleep.
Loose fitting pants of linen, a white shirt beneath a cargo jacket, and that slouched knitted cap she had spotted him wearing in the cold was still there. He looked as though he had just rolled out of bed—and in fact, he had.
All her fault. How rude of her!
Reaching up, he rubbed at his eyes, releasing a long sigh as he fixed her with a lazy stare. Awful...she felt so awful...and the casual conversation she had originally intended to hide behind completely faded from existence.
She owed him an apology.
"I do apologize for disturbing you this evening." She hoped her sincerity and shame was clear, "Do forgive me, please."
A second passed. Then another, and she watched curiously as he leaned back in his chair, and brought one barefoot to rest upon the table to counterbalance. The Drifter's head tilted, watching her with an expression drenched in stagnation.
"Ya didn't come all this way just to use my shower, honey," He raised a brow, "What's up?"
Blunt. She knew he was going to ask for an explanation at some point, and though Eris had fully intended to divulge the events of the night...now, as she sat before him...she began to second guess herself.
"Just...bad dreams." It was a mumble, and The Drifter's dull stare narrowed.
"Um...wanna be a bit more vague?"
His irony wasn't lost on her, and she felt a shiver of frustration travel from her head into her shoulders.
"I...became disorientated," She offered, "I panicked a little. You just happened to be the first contact on my data pad."
Such a lie, but if it spared her an iota of shame, she would indulge the sin.
Why not simply tell him?
Because...because then...she would have to relive it all.
"Wanna talk 'bout it?"
Though his voice sounded stale when the question was broached, Eris could sense that he was genuinely opening himself to her. The invitation was made—it was up to her to accept it or not. Isn't that why she had come? Hadn't she wanted a lending ear? Another tremor—why wouldn't they cease?! Hands attempting to place her mug upon the table without spilling the drink, but it was difficult; quite so. It was made all the worse when she noticed his eyes shift towards her hands, taking in the gesture with clarity. It had been subtle, but Eris knew that he was analyzing her every move.
Damn him.
Even with a mind clouded in idleness, the man had strength enough to remain aware of his surroundings.
He's gifted. He's a fighter.
That was the tell-tale sign of a true survivor, of a warrior. Senses honed and disciplined. Eris could recognize this, for she had spent three lifetimes carving herself into a being of pure control. But this raggedy-man had centuries on her in age, and she could only imagine how much greater his regulation was than her own. The drawback of it all—it made him difficult to fool, and sometimes...Oh—how she felt like a specimen beneath a microscope when he watched her.
He knew she was lying, twisting the truth and relying on omission. She could see it in his unamused gaze, in the twitch of his mouth. But surely, he had every right to be suspicious and annoyed with her.
I'm wasting his time. What should I say?
A minute had passed without her gifting him with a response, and she tried to push through the fog of her brain for a suitable answer that would spare them both unpleasantries.
However—
A clucking of his tongue, and he sat upright; the chair's front legs coming down with a dull Thunk!
"Whatever, sweet-pea. Ain't no one pointin' a heater at your head." He cleared his throat, and began fishing about in the pocket of his jacket.
Stunned. Eris was stunned. He wasn't pressing the issue—he wasn't trying to goad her into a dispute that would end with her telling him what he wanted to know. He was letting it go. Letting her have the control. She lifted her head a little higher, peering out from beneath the towel with as much caution as she could, and watched him produce two separate decks of cards from his jacket. Sliding them from their boxes, and shuffling; creating a stack of one-hundred-four.
"I think I know what game ya need tonight, darlin'."
What? What is he-
She raised a brow, eyes widening, "We're playing? Now?"
A grin upon his face as he continued to manipulate the cards with a skill that never ceased to astound her.
"Might as well." He shrugged.
This late? It wasn't even the correct day for it. Their weekly meeting was still two days away.
"Why do we need two decks?" Her voice was terribly hoarse, and despite clearing her throat, the sensation of something caught within lingered.
He smirked, "Ya ever play the Memory Game?"
Eris pondered a moment. Once again, she had the distinct impression that she knew the game under a different handle.
"I don't know." She shook her head. Honestly.
Her words came out a whisper, and she cleared her throat once more. Lowering her head to assure the towel didn't slip off, as she listened to the fluttering of the card stock he continued to shuffle. Eyes focused on her ungloved hands, and the uncovered wrists upon her lap.
So pale, so sickly. Oh, how embarrassed she was! She began to wring her fingers, trying to soothe herself; seeking that self comfort, when suddenly- everything fell silent. No shuffling, no dealing, just...nothing. She attempted another glance from beneath the cloth, trying to see why he had stopped without revealing...too much of herself; but it was a precarious position to be in. He was staring at her. A most unamused expression upon his face, and she could see fatigue coating every inch of him.
What is the matter?
Is it not obvious?Her mind argued with itself, reminding her of how this situation began. Shehad been the one to rip him from his bed and disturb whatever sleep he had managed to procure. Truly, he must be annoyed with her, and she had no right to be questioning his mood. She was the guilty party.
I've become such a burden...no wonder Asher did not answer me.
Perhaps she should apologize, thank The Drifter and leave. Allow him to return to bed for the rest she was certain he rarely had the luxury of. Yes, she owed him an apology and a token of gratitude. But as the words formed upon her lips— He released an exasperated sigh,
"Just take the damn towel off, Moondust. Seriously."
He sounded weary, and clearly her neurotic behavior was pushing his proverbial buttons. But his request...she could not acquiesce to it.
"I must respectfully decline." She informed him, slouching a little lower in her seat.
That elicited a groan from him as he leaned slightly back in his chair. Running his hand down his face, he fixed her with an irritated gaze.
"The hell are ya so afraid of?" He allowed his hand to fall limp and smack down upon the table, "There's no one here to see ya! Just me and Dumb—"
He caught himself, leaving the insult incomplete as she flashed him an aggravated stare from beneath the edges of the towel; a reminder that she would not tolerate his nickname for Chim-Ung.
He sighed dramatically, placing his hand over his heart, "I'm sorry—Just me and the Lil' Fucker."
There we are. Of course.
She sighed her own exasperation, signifying how unamused she was with his sarcasm, and a Squawk! from the sofa across the room clearly expressed Chim-Ung's displeasure at the man's blatant disrespect.
"Oh, cram it, Snowgoose!" The Drifter called out, and Eris felt her anxiety resurging as the threat of bickering was hanging in the air.
Not tonight! Not now! SHUT-UP!
"STOP! Just..." She held up her hands, panting as she fought to reduce her volume, "...stop. Not tonight, please..."
Her voice trailed off, all the fight letting out of her, as The Drifter looked on. Eris caught sight of the fatigue falling upon his countenance once again, while she sank into her own. It was late, both their bodies clearly begging for rest, but Eris' mind was a storm of torment. She was trying her best to find distraction, she had hoped The Drifter would have provided it, but now...she found herself without her armor, without her proverbial cloak of invisibility. She sat before him with only a towel to hide behind, and it created more anxiety.
He was scrutinizing her, and Eris' hands began to shake; interlinking her fingers together to still the unease, and for the first time...she found she couldn't face him. This ache of utter humiliation. She had hoped no one would ever see—she had fought so hard to keep others from knowing what she had become.
True, Ikora had looked upon her when she lay in her hospital bed. Asher had seen as well, but it had been out of Eris' control. She had screamed, demanded their secrecy.
Tell no one!
They had looked at her with such...pity! Fear even! It had felt like a betrayal. And now The Drifter—Germaine...
I don't want him to see me!
Shuddering breath. Silence falling between them, only broken by the natural creaks and hums of the ship around them, the energy of its AI pulsating through it; like blood inside veins. It was matching the beat of her own heart, palpitating in her ears.
Coming here was a mistake.
She should request her clothes and leave.
And so, she took a breath to announce her apology and egress, but halted when a sigh of discontentment from the man broke through the quiet. She glanced up to see him stand, his motions swift and implicit, as he slipped his jacket off, revealing a white tank top underneath that exposed his arms and shoulders. This was quickly followed by the removal of the cap upon his head, his hair made all the more disheveled as he ruffled it free from his scalp.
What is he doing?!
Her heart beat louder as he plopped back into his seat, fixing her with the most condescending expression. A declaration, a challenge. An announcement of his own that here he was—sitting before her without armor, without the layers to hide behind. Open, vulnerable, and real. She sat rigid, the shock still clutching her tightly as she looked upon him. Decorated in ink that nearly encompassed every inch of his skin, and marred with scars left unattended by his Ghost. There was a strength in his arms and shoulders she hadn't expected. She had thought perhaps, like her, he had grown soft and weak over the years of neglect, but no—he still possessed the brawn of a fighter.
She felt ashamed for looking, but she couldn't turn away. No...because...because the illustrations on him...they weren't simply tattoos. Her eyes had caught something—
Is that—?
It was no surprise there would be snakes curled and coiled about his form, even that insignia he utilized for his illegal fight-club was stamped upon his neck, but joining them were many lines and geometric shapes, splatters of calligraphy, and strange forms similar to totems. Much of it was alien in appearance, and all of it archaic...but what trulycaught her eye, what had left her frozen in place, were the series of symbols running along his collarbones.
Her blood ran cold.
I know those symbols...
In fact, she could read them perfectly—
That is Hive magic!
Yes, it was a binding spell! Why—in the name of all that was holy in this system—would he have a Hive binding spell tattooed upon his body?!
What has he done?! Why?!
Paranoia and suspicion staked their claim upon her. Had she been led into something? Was he a part of something deeper than she originally thought? No...NO! He was marked—the bindings on the collars...only Wizards and Witches wore those in the Hive. They served as binders; keeping their power strong and untainted. It gave them strength.
A shiver ran through her. How had The Drifter come to possess them? It was ludicrous! She narrowed her eyes,
"Aspiration of the traveling."
That's how it read. But what did it mean?!
She couldn't blink. Fury rising with the paranoia until she lost all control—
"Why do you have a binding spell upon you?" Her words were firm, a deep rumble of disgust rising from her chest.
He furrowed his brows in return, "Huh? What're ya talkin' 'bout?"
She raised an accusatory finger and pointed, "That." She snapped, "You have Hive magic upon your skin. WHY?"
She would have none of his riddles or his word play. None of his circular talk and sarcasm. Her tone made this clear—straight and honest answers were all she would accept.
Clearly, he got the message.
"Yeah, it's Hive—but it ain't a bindin' spell, hun."
Did he think her stupid?!
"I know what that is!" She smacked her hand upon the table, "That is a binding spell of the I'lim! Only Wizards carry that upon their skin! So WHYdo you have it?!"
Inexplicable anger was rising. She was tired, so very tired of being afraid all the time—of not knowing who to trust. Now...now it seemed this man she had shared so much with was not what she had believed him to be.
Alone...alone...
She startled when a small smile spread upon his lips.
"You're right. That's true." He nodded, "But you're readin' it wrong, darlin'."
She blinked, more perplexed than before. Her knowledge of the Hive language was fluent, and she knew what she was reading. If he thought her that naïve, he was in for a rude awakening.
"Aspiration Of The Traveling." She spoke pointedly.
"Very good." His smile grew, "But you're readin' it literally."
She froze.
"I don't fathom..."
"Ya don't understand, right?" He cocked a brow, and Eris grew more confused at his words.
Then she remembered—In the past, "Fathom" had been a word he hadn't known, and had become quite upset when she had used it against him. Apparently, he had researched its definition at some point.
"Yes," She hissed, "I don't understand your question. Explain."
His smile grew, but didn't reach his eyes, "It's my name."
And then everything stopped. A moment in time stilled at the reveal of something terrifyingly profound.
His name?
Eris wracked her thoughts, trying to find the logic in his words, for she could not see how it would translate to any name she had heard him addressed by. Did he have yet another name? Perhaps...something the Hive knew him by? A sickening feeling, a sinking in her stomach—a memory trying to claw to the forefront of her mind...
"Ma'lathu...come on out..."
No! Not now!She shivered, shaking the nausea and the dread from her. Those memories...she would not cave to them! No, there was something all the more crucial at hand. Still peering from beneath her towel, Eris' eyes moved over The Drifter's features, searching for the truth—the answer to a question she could not find the correct words for.
Instead, all she could draw from her lips was, "What?"
A sigh from the man, not one of exasperation, but one of fatigue, and he brought his finger up to point at the calligraphy at his collarbone; tapping it lightly.
"On a world hidden away from the light," He softened his voice, "There is a ziggurat that sits upon a plane of obsidian."
Ziggurat...she thought she knew what he meant...if so, then—
"Inside this ziggurat, at the very heart of it, is a circle in which an altar stands."
That place...she knew what it was. She swallowed down the anxiety rising at his words.
"There were only seven of us that survived." His eyes shifted, falling dark for a split second before fading back into their natural blue.
Eris had seen. She caught the change, and froze as she waited for the rest of his secret to be revealed. She knew what he spoke of...she thought she knew...
The Dredgens.
"There was a ritual...a test." He licked his lips, eyes breaking away from hers as he looked down upon the table; becoming lost in memory.
"We knelt before this altar in a circle...and waited."
A pause. A second's breath. Eris knew what he saw in his mind's eye, for she had seen those altars as well...deep within a pit.
"Thousands of voices whispering in our heads—telling us secrets."
She could see the hand at his chest beginning to tremble, a painful memory taking hold.
"The voices...they told us things about ourselves. It looked into us...deep into our hearts and our souls...and told us the truth."
A scoff, and he began to chuckle—not in humor, but in irony, and Eris felt a tightness in her chest take hold at the sound of it.
So weak...so tired.
"The Darkness laughed at me." He shook his head, as he raised his gaze to try and meet her own once more, "It actually laughed at me..."
He chuckled harder, but there was a weariness and a surrender in his expression. Clearly, this had been something that had weighed down upon him for a very long time...and now, he was relieving himself of it. No longer would he carry it alone.
Eris sat a little taller.
No, I'm here now.
Another sigh, bracing for the end: "And then it gave me a new name."
Breath catching in her throat. Fear and awe both fighting to reign over her—this truth, this secret—a secret about the Darkness itself and its machinations.
I see! I understand!
Then The Drifter cleared his throat and proclaimed for her ears only: "Dredgen Kam'hithuan."
She knew the translation. Not only its literal meaning, but its true signification. He was right, she hadn't read it properly.
Dredgen Kam'hithuan translated as: "Eternal Abyss For The Aspiration Of The Traveling."
But what it actually meant—what it truly meant was:
"The Man Who Walks In Hope." The Drifter finished the thought for her. Speaking the name out loud as he dragged his finger along the script; demonstrating how to read it.
"I was the Dredgen of Hope." One last declaration, and he spoke no more.
She sat in astonishment. Her heart beating rapidly as she absorbed everything he had said. In this moment, in this explanation, he had revealed so much of himself. Once again, a thought came to Eris, another reminder that even after all this time, she was still being terribly unfair to him.
If the Darkness looked inside his very being, and found hope overflowing...
Surely, he was so much stronger and braver than anyone realized. Perhaps...perhaps she could absorb some of it for herself. To be brave and strong...to have hope that her fears would not consume her, nor would they come to pass.
And in this moment, as she pondered over everything he had said...she felt more stable than she had ever felt before. In fact—
A deep breath, a swallowing of her anxiety. Raising a hand to her head, grasping the towel between shaking fingers—
If he could lay bare his sins...
A gentle pull—
So could she.
The fabric fell away, the slight sensation of weight lifting from atop her head, and Eris Morn allowed her shield to slip to the floor. She sat before him...he sat before her, and when their eyes met, there was an understanding so compelling that it threatened to drive her back. There was no judgment, there was no pity. No, they watched each other with a compassion that Eris was convinced no being in this universe could ever know nor understand. They might as well have stood before each other nude, for they had revealed so much in an instant; there was very little left to hide.
A woman damaged. A man tainted. But neither was truly broken. The glue that held them both together, was a simple word of Hope.
The ends of her hair tickled the tip of her chin, and though she felt the urge to brush it back behind her ears, she would not move. For to do so would disrupt the courage she was clinging so tightly to. She watched him carefully, waiting for his eyes to look her over...to take her all in. The three eyes that wept paracausal ink, the chitin that had begun to protrude from beneath her hair; deforming her skull. The sallowness of her skin, her sunken features...her overall emaciated form. She waited...and waited...
But then—
"Alright, The Memory-Game!" He looked away as he began to swiftly lay the cards out, in rows upon the table.
Eris blinked, stunned. Unsure. He was dismissing her? Had he no questions?
In no time, he had organized six rows of face-down cards.
"Um..." He leaned back in his seat, pursing his lips as he thought, "Maybe ya know it as Pairs? Shinkei-suijaku?"
She was still somewhat in shock, and could only shake her head.
"Hmmm..." He drummed his fingers upon the wood, nose scrunching in that little habit he used to express contemplation, "How 'bout Concentration?"
A recognition in her mind, bringing her back into the moment.
"Yes." She nodded, "I do know Concentration."
"Alright, alright!" He bounced in his seat, leaning forward, "Same game! Ya go first!"
His trademark grin was back, his demeanor devoid of any indication towards the harsh conversation they had engaged in. No, The Drifter was back in all his glory, and quite honestly, Eris was grateful.
He has such a gift.
She envied him. He had transformed nonchalance into an art form. No matter. She would not be the one to upset the balance. And so, she reached out and flipped a card:
3RD ROW - SIX OF HEARTS.
And another:
1ST ROW – FOUR OF SPADES.
No match. She turned them face down.
The Drifter took his turn:
5TH ROW - QUEEN OF SPADES. 2ND ROW – NINE OF CLUBS.
No match. He flipped them back.
As he did, Eris caught sight once more of the symbols upon his knuckles. They had been a source of curiosity for quite some time, and now that he had revealed so much more of himself...including a Hive brand upon his flesh...she wondered if maybe he might tell her about them as well.
"Those marks on your hands," Her voice hoarse, as she flipped a card: 2ND ROW – KING OF CLUBS), "What are their origins?"
6TH ROW – TWO OF HEARTS.
No match.
He cocked a brow, raising one of his hands up to inspect what she had indicated.
"These?" He held his knuckles out towards her, "I'm surprised ya don't know what they are, Moondust."
He grinned and flipped his own cards: 5TH ROW – JACK OF DIAMONDS. 2ND ROW – QUEEN OF SPADES.
No match.
Eris nearly scoffed. She wasn't all-knowing. What did he take her for?
She quickly took advantage of his 2nd Row reveal, and turned over his QUEEN OF SPADES to match the one at the 5thRow. The first match of the game went to her.
"I'm not omniscient." She mumbled, beginning a pile of cards beside her, "Just tell me what they are or don't."
She shrugged. Honestly, he needn't explain himself. She was too tired to engage anyways.
The Drifter chuckled and leaned forward with his hand outstretched, causing Eris to flinch back slightly. His hand right before her face now.
"Give 'em a looksee!" He invited, and Eris blinked, trying to get them into focus.
Black ink swirled in a lovely calligraphy, surrounded by tiny dots that touched each corner of the flat region between the knuckles of his hand and fingers. It was sharp, and yet wispy all the same, and the longer she stared...the more she realized she had seen these symbols before.
Wait...
"Is that..." Her eyes narrowed, "Are those Techeun wards?"
"Ya got it!" He chuckled, then pulled his hand away to continue his game:
1ST ROW – TWO OF HEARTS. 6TH ROW – TWO OF HEARTS.
He claimed a match, now even with her, but Eris didn't notice; she was still processing what she had just seen. Techeun Wards? He had Awoken magic tattooed upon him?
First Hive, now Awoken, what else could he possibly—
She cut off her own thought, as her eyes began to move over his exposed skin. Eyes widening in realization.
Oh no...he can't be serious?
With the exception of the snakes—so she assumed—every image upon his body was a mark; a symbol. They weren't tattoos at all! In fact, if she was reading them accurately...
"You marked your entire body with wards and charms?" Shock and awe evident in her tone, and she couldn't help that her jaw hung open just a little.
She had never seen anything like it! The man was a walking encyclopedia of ancient magic! Both earthborn and alien! Marks of protection, seals, binders, spells—he had everything! Even Vex codes!
Oh...if Asher or Osiris could see that...
It was a terrifying thought.
"Yup!" His grin so big that the gap in his two-front teeth beamed prominently, "Ya should see the rest of me..."
There was a tease in his tone, and Eris sneered. She'd pass on that.
"Why woul—" She stopped herself, it would be a stupid question if she finished, for she already knew the answer as to why he would do such a thing.
Instead, she blurted out: "And here I thought Iwas paranoid..."
A gasp, and The Drifter snapped back in his seat; a dramatic expression of offense upon his face.
"Excuse me..." he began, bringing his hand to his heart while looking down his nose at her, "But Iam the most paranoid individual in this entire universe!"
He spoke with such pride. As though it were a great feat worthy of honor and praise.
Well...perhaps it is. How long has he survived?
Her mind made a most excellent point. She did not know how old he was...but she understood enough to realize he had lived a very, very long time. Maybe he should get a medal for it.
"Hmph." She gave a minute shrug and reached for a card: 4TH ROW – NINE OF DIAMONDS. 6TH ROW – THREE OF CLUBS.
She returned them.
"What's with the Hmph?" He narrowed his eyes at her, flipping his cards:
3RD ROW – FOUR OF SPADES. 1ST ROW – FOUR OF SPADES. Another match he added to his pile.
Confused at his question, Eris shook her head, "What do you mean?"
"That little—Hmph!" He put his nose in the air, a condescending look upon his face, as he mimicked her higher toned voice.
Oh dear Lord...
And so it began again.
"Do not twist my words around to fulfill your need to validate your insecurities, Rat." She nearly groaned, "We've been over this so many times now."
"I didn't twist your words." He spoke matter-of-factly, "Ya didn't say any. Ya let out a—Hmph!" He emphasized again, much more dramatically this time. "That's a sound. Not a word."
As if she didn't know. Eris couldn't help it, she brought a hand to her face and closed her eyes; taking a deep breath. Was he serious? Was he really, truly serious? He was starting an argument over a meaningless discord?
"It meant nothing." She tried to be patient, "It was merely a stridency."
She froze when she realized her mistake. She could slap herself for being so careless—she had said a word he probably didn't know, and now a new quarrel would begin.
However—
"Stridency!" He declared, "S-T-R-I-D-E-N-C-Y. Stridency!"
Her eyes shot open, expression frozen in shock as he stared back at her with a most smug smile.
"It means Noise." He explained, tapping his finger upon the table, "Didn't think Drifter knew that one, did ya?"
She'd be lying if she said she wasn't impressed. Still, it didn't change the frustration she felt about the matter.
"Rat," She began, bringing her elbows to rest upon the wood, "What the hell are you talking about?"
There must have been something about her tone or expression that was quite amusing, for her burst into laughter, falling back into his chair.
"Ya judgin' me?" He spoke around his chuckles, "Ya think I'm a nutcase 'cause I hoard junk and practice superstition? Ya think I'm a savage cause I no-speak-big-mouth-words and have more tattoos than I do teeth?"
Eris could break his nose. She really could.
"Ya think I'm a lunatic?"
He was goading her, trying to get her to fight him. Why the hell did he get off on riling her up with every visit?
Fine.
"Yes," She deadpanned, "I do think you're a lunatic."
"Aww!" He feigned upset, "I knew it! It's cause'a my ink, ain't it?!"
What the hell is he playing at?
"Oh please! Even I have a tattoo." She scoffed, and instantly blanched when the words passed her lips.
Oh no...why did I just tell him that?!
Shocked at her own confession, she hoped he hadn't heard her. But alas...
Wide eyes upon her, a slow smile spreading upon his lips, and then—
"Really?!" His whole mood instantly lifted into something mischievous.
Astonishing. He had the attention of a goldfish.
"Ya know what?" He announced, "I believe it! What's it of?!"
Eris' blood ran cold, she had to find a way to divert his attention elsewhere. She hadn't meant to say it out loud, she was daft from lack of sleep and nerves that were on edge; much like a drunk who loses all inhibitions. But Eris still had enough awareness and self-control to rectify her mistake.
She shook her head, "It's irrelevant. I was just thinking out loud."
How weak an argument.
Of course he wouldn't take the hint.
"Uh-uh! No, Moondust!" He tsked her.
Sure enough...
"Ya ain't gonna stir my interest and not satisfy it! Spill!"
She wasn't sure how to get out of this. Her frustration was growing by the second, made all the worse by the knowledge that The Drifter would most likely hound until she gave in.
"Forget it, Rat. It's not important."
"'Course it ain't!" He scoffed, "But that don't mean it ain't interestin'! Share!"
She ran her hand along her face. She had made a mistake—losing her composure and ability to hold her tongue.
"I do not wish to elaborate," There was a groan in her voice, "Please, forget I said anything."
He stared at her, a curious look frosting the expression of impudence he wore.
"What's it of, Moondust?" There was a tease in his tone; a grin spreading along his lips.
She narrowed her gaze, "None of your concern."
"Is it..." He cocked a brow, "Offensive?"
She wouldn't dignify him with an answer. She knew exactly what he was going to do. He would try and break her down through incessant nagging through a proverbial game of twenty-questions. Thence, by process of elimination and emotional manipulation, reveal the information he sought from her. Eris did not know what sort of gullible ignoramuses he was used to dealing with, but she most certainly wasn't one of them.
BUT—
He gasped, eyes wide, "Holy shit! It is, ain't it?!"
She should have known better. Of course he would take her silence for confirmation...OR, he was trying to manipulate her into thinkingthat he was taking it for confirmation. Heaven's mercy! It was exhausting trying to decipher him! She wouldn't fall for it. No, she was trying so hard not to fall for it.
"Can we please just drop this subject?" The weariness in her voice was plain enough, and she reached out to take her mug in hand once more; bringing it to her lips. Trying to hide inside the drink.
It was still warm and she let the heat wash over; soothing her throat as she sipped. She could see him in her peripherals, watching her with a smirk, and Eris knew—she knewhe wasn't going to relinquish his interrogation.
"Hmm..." His hum drew her eyes up, and she could see that he was pondering something.
"Knowin' you..." He cocked a brow, folding his arms across his chest, "I'm gonna say...ya got a dragon."
She paused, realization sinking in. He was trying to guess at the subject of her tattoo.
He takes me for a dragon woman?
She couldn't help the cringing expression, "No."
Beautiful creatures to be sure, but truly cliché.
"Alright, alright," He conceded, "Ya got aaaaaa— Tiger!"
Another cliché?
What did he take her for? Surely she was much more original than that.
"No."
Her irritation was clearly fueling his amusement.
"Ok! Ok! A skull surrounded by roses!"
Now he was just being insolent. She glared in silence.
"A sparrow with some hokey script like—Wanderlust?"
Eris would not give in to his strategy. He was trying to annoy her to the point where she would reveal what was inked upon her.
"Oh! Wait, wait, wait!" He leaned forward, smacking his hands upon the table in a grand gesture, "I got it! I know what it is!"
Eris stiffened. She didn't like how jovial he had suddenly become. A sly grin, a leering expression—
"Ya got a tramp-stamp that says: DONATIONS!"
Oh dear God!
"You vile cretin!" She snapped, but he simply burst into laughter.
"Oh come on, Moondust!" He howled, "We all adults here!"
"Apparently not!" She gritted her teeth.
Truly, he had the conduct of a freshman.
He carried on, leaning back in his seat before fixing her with a mirthful stare. He had produced a rise out of her; clearly the highlight of the evening. Honestly, it made sense. Having his sleep interrupted and forced to play host to her and the mental instability that came with the package...she could not blame him. Still, she didn't appreciate the crude immaturity he was unleashing.
Why am I being so reticent?
An honest question for her attitude. There was nothing inappropriate about her tattoo or its placement. It was just— a reminder of the Eris Morn who once was.
Playfulness painted in dark makeup, and combat boots worn beneath skirts in the spring.
That truth, that once long ago...she had found joy in whimsical things. That she had sought the charm of the offbeat.
It doesn't harm anyone.
The Drifter sat before her, baring the ugliness of the lives he had led upon his flesh. In return, she had revealed her sin to him, and still, he had not flinched. What difference did a silly tattoo make?
A sigh passed her lips, and she closed her eyes as a decision was made.
"Do you really want to see it, Rat?"
Her gaze returned to his, and she startled a moment as she found his features furrowed in the most curious expression. Almost...suspicious.
"That depends..." He took on a serious tone, "Is it somewhere lewd?"
She blinked, surprised at his sudden regard for propriety. It was unexpected, and frankly, sympathetic. He was letting her know that she need not sacrifice her modesty to satiate his curiosity, and Eris felt such gratitude overwhelm her. So much so, that it was this very statement that decided her with finality.
"No. It's on my shoulder blade."
She would share.
His eyes brightened, "Then let's see it, sistah!"
Now sitting straight, he practically bounced in his seat, and Eris took a deep breath before plunging into further embarrassment.
I cannot believe I'm doing this...
Heart rate increasing as she slowly pulled her arm back into her sleeve. A pause, second guessing herself as The Drifter folded his hands upon the table and leaned forward expectantly. His eyes alight, smile barely contained—it made Eris sneer. She was nothere to entertain him, yet still, she continued slipping her arm up and through the neckline, causing the shirt to drape over her; similarly to a toga. One more adjustment to preserve her modesty, and she fought back the shame of her emaciated sternum. How gaunt she must look to his eye.
What does he care?
She reminded herself of the insignificance of it all, and with a sigh, slowly turned her back towards him; revealing the art upon her shoulder. The tattoo wasn't small. It occupied the majority of her upper back, and she attempted to flatten it slightly by rolling her shoulder forward. Hands clutching the shirt to her breast, she hunched in on herself as she waited for his assessment. She could hear the wood of the table creaking. He must be leaning forward for closer inspection—and then a bark of laughter:
"A Maneki-Neko?!"
Eris flinched as he laughed even harder.
"Ya got a Maneki-Neko?!"
Actually, she was a bit surprised he knew what it was, but all the same, she was irked that he was laughing about it. This was the very reason she hadn't wanted to show him.
"Don't judge." She warned, which elicited another round of laughter from him.
"I ain't! When have I ever?!"
He had a very good point, and Eris felt her embarrassment lessen the tiniest bit.
"I'm just...surprised!" He went on, "It ain't what I was expectin'!"
Sitting in all its glory upon her back, was a Maneki-Neko: The Beckoning Cat. One paw raised while the other held a giant koban coin, a symbolism of good fortune, and Eris silently scoffed when the irony fell upon her. After all this time...she hadn't realized how ineffective the Cat had been.
"That's some beautiful line work, darlin'." The Drifter's compliment pulled her out of her negative thoughts, "Ya found a damn good artist! Line work is flawless!"
There was sincere admiration in his voice, and it brought back a memory inside of Eris. She remembered—the artist had been a woman named Himiko-4. An Exo at a shop in the Trolley District of the City; an area more popular with the youth of the time. Specifically artists. When Eris had gone to see her, it had been at a time in her life when she had found herself fading into the background. Her first fireteam had begun to drift apart—falling into individual ventures—and Ikora had become more involved with the politics of the Consensus.
Eris had been restless. Frustrated. Lonely. She wanted something for herself, something that would make her happy.
Asher had scoffed when she told him she was getting a tattoo. Said she was being impulsive and regressing into a state of juvenile rebellion. Perhaps he had been correct—but it didn't change anything. She had gone without him. he had refused to take part in her "immature venture." So, she went alone.
The Maneki-Neko had been her choice. Something innocent and meaningful, that would grant her luck and peace. Himiko's hands had been quick and precise, resulting in a tolerable sitting, and though Eris had lay with gritted teeth against the stinging pain, it had passed quickly; leaving behind a work of art. A symbol of a Cat of fortune, sitting against the backdrop of bamboo stalks. It was beautiful. Playful. It had made Eris feel good. But now...now it felt improper to have such a thing of joy upon a damaged form.
"Hmm..." Behind her, The Drifter gave an inquisitive hum, "Is it red or pink?"
She blinked.
What on Earth was he talking about?
"I don't understand the question." She glanced over her shoulder, finding a grin upon his lips.
"The Cat," He clarified, "Is it red or pink?" Ya know the color of the Cat determines what it blesses ya with, right?"
Actually...she hadn't known that. She had simply agreed on monochromatic tones; much like henna. She hadn't thought at all about the Cat's color.
She stared blankly back at him, and he must have sensed her naivety, for his smile grew substantially.
"Red means ya want good health," He explained, "But pink..."
He leaned forward, his expression turning to one of flirtatious mockery, "Pink means ya lookin' for a bit'a romance."
A wag of his eyebrow, and Eris felt her stomach drop.
"It's red." She fired back, her tone firm on the matter, but The Drifter simply laughed.
"Whatever ya say, darlin'!" He winked, and Eris couldn't help but wonder if perhaps Himiko-4 had decided the color for her in full awareness of what it meant...
"Why were ya embarrassed to show it to me?" She watched him take up his mug to sip at his own drink, casually slumping in his seat once more, "It's cute!" He smirked.
That was the exact word she hadn't wanted to hear.
"You said it yourself." She sighed, turning back around as she pulled her arm through the sleeve once again, "It's a bit too...perky."
She adjusted the top to sit correctly upon her frame and met his eyes. Scrutinizing her over the rim of his mug, an eyebrow cocked.
He swallowed his sip, "Oh, I see...so Eris Morn is only allowed to sport things that are dark and savage."
She was taken aback, her mind trying to process what he was saying.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Scary Mary." He sat his mug down, fixing her with a challenging smirk.
Okay, that was a term she was familiar with, and she couldn't help but feel a bit...offended at his accusation.
"I do not seek out the gloom, Rat. It tends to gravitate towards me."
"Ah." He nodded, but there was a cynicism in the action, "So, you allow it to dictate your life. No room for harmless wonder?"
She wasn't a fool. She knew what he meant, but tragically, it wasn't as simple as he seemed to believe.
In the past...she had cherished things that were lighthearted. She had loved simple things that invoked endearment. She had loved cotton candy—the very sight of its bright colors would cause a surge of joy within her, and she would always rush to buy some when it was available in the City. But now...she hated sugar.
She had enjoyed fireworks—but loud sounds and bright lights drove her mad now.
She had collected trinkets featuring adorable animals and other delightful symbols, such as hearts and stars—now, they served no purpose. She would only carry morbid charms to ward off the evil she stood before every moment of her cursed life. Bones and teeth, tanned hides, and severed fingers. Such gruesomeness.
"There is no purpose served in such things." Her voice was a sorrowful mutter that even she could not censor, "I did not ask for the macabre. But I have been buried within it far too long."
He watched her, eyes boring into her own, and Eris realized he was searching for something once again. She disliked when he did this. It made her feel...strange. Something unidentifiable writhing inside of her, and so, she looked away. Down to the cards— was it her turn?
A second passed as she tried to bring her thoughts back into the game they had started, but the scuff of his chair moving closer to her drew Eris' attention back to The Drifter. He had lifted his seat slightly, scooting just a bit closer to her, and once again, Eris sat stalk still.
He's close again...too close...
Her heart was beating in her throat, as he sat beside her. A lazy grin and knowing look in his eye, as he brought his leg up, plopping his foot upon the table. Then, without warning, he took his pant leg and pulled up; revealing all of his thigh.
Eris' face flushed, heart stopping, and she nearly choked upon her own saliva.
What the hell is he doing?!
He had drawn his pant leg to his hip, revealing far more than she expected to see! And though he kept his modesty to a degree—for she hadn't caught sight of anything...private—it was still a shock to see that much of him. He truly was covered in tattoos! His leg was swarming with serpents that twisted and slithered around his limb, while more symbols and wards could be seen beneath a light dusting of hair. She wanted to turn away, her prudish nature telling her that it was wrong to look—
"Okay," He cleared his throat, "Check this out..."
He pointed to something upon his skin, and after a second's hesitation, Eris found herself slowly leaning closer; her eyes seeking out what he was indicating. Heart rate increasing when the earthy smell of his soap struck her, and she swallowed her rising nerves as they came to be mere inches apart.
He must have showered before he went to bed...the scent of that soap was still so strong upon him, and she inhaled it involuntarily. Her mind screaming, falling into chaos.
This is wrong! It isn't decent!
She found herself unable to focus, even with The Drifter pointing directly at the subject matter... her anxiety was far too high.
"Ya see it?"
His voice pulled her back, shaking some of the disquiet free from her mind, and Eris took a moment to gather herself.
Breathe. There's nothing immoral to be upset over.
Rationale, logic, and with that reminder, she gathered herself into the mature adult she was, and looked at The Drifter's leg. A second passed, then another, staring at the spot he had directed her attention towards.
What am I looking—
Then she saw it...and when she did, she froze; mind emptying of all thought. All the demureness she had wrestled with fleeing from before her in that instant.
Is...is that...
He giggled beside her, obviously realizing that she had just comprehended what was on his skin.
"Is that a cupcake?" Her voice betrayed her disbelief, and The Drifter burst into laughter at her reaction.
"Sure is!"
She was stunned, for upon his thigh, nestled between the coils of a snake...was a purple frosted cupcake, adorned with yellow sprinkles, and a cherry on top. But the strangest part of all—the coup de grace—was a pair of eyes looking out at her from atop its frosted head. Googly-eyes to be exact.
What in the hell was this all about?
"Are you joshing me?" She deadpanned, the shock hadn't worn off.
"Nope!" His voice was full of mirth, "It's a cupcake with googly-eyes!"
Eris blinked, "Why...why would you..."
It wasn't a small tattoo either. In fact, it was probably close to the size of her fist, making it all the more absurd. It was badly drawn too—almost child-like in design. It was ridiculous. It was moronic—and she found herself unable to hold back the chuckles that rose in her throat.
"Oh...mercy, me..." She tried to fight the smile, but it defied her, "Why would you do something so...stupid?!"
A bark of laughter escaped her, and she reflexively brought her hand to her mouth to quell it.
"Remember how I told ya 'bout that little game Orin and I used to play in the Pilgrim Guard? The scavenger hunt?"
She did, and when she thought back to what he had said, suddenly everything began to come together.
"Ohhh!" She gasped, "Oh no..."
"Ohhh yessss..." The Drifter responded in kind, "One time, I lost...and as is law, I had to do somethin' stupid."
Orin didn't!
"Sooo..." The Drifter flicked the tattoo, "Orin announced that I was to get a new tattoo. BUUUT—"
He paused dramatically, "SHE got to design it...and ink me herself."
Eris' eyes darted up to meet his own; wide in disbelief.
"Orin knew how to tattoo?"
"Hell no!" He scoffed, nose scrunched in that childish manner of his, "She couldn't draw worth shit! But, thems the rules!"
She snorted, biting her lip to keep the laughter at bay.
"So, when we get back to the Safe City, we went to see our buddy, Gabriel. He had a tattoo shop outside the marketplace, did a lot of my original ink—mostly the snakes," He explained, "And Orin presented her plan to him with all this excitement!"
He waved his hand to demonstrate how rambunctious the Titan had been.
"He showed her how to work the gun, and once she figured it out—" He ran his finger over the tattoo in a drawing gesture, "Buzzzzzz! Cupcake!"
"Oh..." Eris kept her hand at her lips, "Oh dear."
"A first it was just gonna be a plain cupcake, but then Orin wanted to add color." He sighed, "Then Gabe opened his big mouth and suggested sprinkles."
Eris couldn't...she just couldn't...
"Then Orin got all worked up and went—" He clutched his chest, eyes wide and gasping dramatically, "It needs a cherry on top!"
He made his voice higher, more feminine, a slight accent to mimic Orin's own. A pause, then he shook his head.
"Man oh, man...let me tell ya somethin' about Orin, sistah—She was heavy handed."
Oh no...
"So, the entire time, she's just layin' into me—" He pressed against his leg to elaborate, "And it hurt like a mother-fucker! I'm layin' on the table screamin' like a ten year old girl, while she's gigglin' like a maniac and hammerin' into my skin like she had a goddamn chisel!"
Eris couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the man...just a little.
"THEN—she gets nearly to the end and has this brilliant idea—" Another gasp, and his voice took on a feminine tone once more, "I'm gonna put googly-eyes on it!"
He threw his hand into the air, "And she just went for it!" It came back down onto his knee with a Smack!and Eris found herself using all the willpower she had not to burst into laughter.
"And the whole time—" He began again.
There's more?!
"Nave, and Paveh are there too, and they're gettin' a sick kick outta the whole thing! Nave offers to let me hold his hand—and 'cause I was hurtin' so bad, I actually took him up on it! So, I'm layin' there, squeezin' the hell outta his hand, screamin' like a little bitch—meanwhile dip-shit over there—" He pointed towards Chim-Ung across the room, the little Ghost lounging on his sofa like he hadn't a care in the world, "—he's laughin' at me, while Paveh, Gabe and Nave are practically pissin' themselves! The way it all looked and sounded—ya think I was givin' birth!"
That was it. Eris was done, and she allowed a laugh to escape. She could picture it...could imagine the pure hilarity of it all.
The poor man.
But just as quickly as she had slipped, she reeled herself back in. She would not make a spectacle of herself.
The Drifter looked to her, a smirk spreading along his lips, "Ya like that, Moondust?" There was something brewing in his eyes, and Eris felt her nerves beginning to stand on end, "Well...it gets better..."
No—Stop!
"So," He began again, "Word gets out that I got myself a new tattoo— and an abso-freakin' adorable one at that! EVERYBODY in the Guard wanted to see it, and I'm like—hell no! But freakin' Saint..." He shook his head, "Woah-ho! He wouldn't take no for an answer— So, he tackles my ass and tries to rip my pants off so he can see the damn thing!"
He paused, fixing her with a serious expression, "Don't be lettin' the angry Fire Bird find out 'bout that," He raised his finger, pointing sternly at her, "Don't want Osiris gettin' the wrong idea."
His smirk growing; all in good humor.
"Mums the word." She promised.
It was a most hilarious image, but honestly, she wasn't surprised that Saint-14 would resort to a radical tactic to win. If the Exo Titan had one major flaw, it would be his inability to recognize boundaries. Saint was harmless. He never meant anything by his antics, he just possessed an innocent inability to read the room. Naïve would be a good word for it, she thought.
The Drifter watched her a second more, then turned his gaze back to the tattoo in question. Silence falling, and with it, something melancholy began to grow.
"It's my favorite tattoo." His voice had shifted into something more gentle, "I cherish it deeply...'cause so many good memories came with it. A package deal."
Eris felt something warm spreading through her at his words, the sheer rawness of his confession—it made her heart want to soar.
"Memories of my comrades...of my wife."
Then all at once, the euphoria that had been building inside her took a blow to its foundation; weakening it significantly.
He's lamenting for her again.
Why? Whywas she becoming so indignant by his talks of Orin? It was wrong!
"It's a stupid tattoo," He went on, pulling her from bitter thoughts, "It's sickeningly adorable and badly done—it's not somethin' ya'd think a guy like me would have."
He was right. Eris would have never guessed the former Dredgen would be sporting something so utterly absurd, and frankly...something a teenage girl would have chosen for body art.
It was juxtaposed against the rest of his ink. It was out of place, it didn't belong...but it made him happy. It was something all his own.
Just like the Cat upon my shoulder.
His eyes finally met hers, and at the sight of his small smile, her breath was stolen away. Something tender and completely honest written in his countenance—then he spoke one last time:
"But I love it all the same."
And in that moment, Eris understood everything.
A smile of her own growing upon her lips, as she sat beside this rogue who had a divine gift for reaching that secret part of her she had put away so long ago. Something no one else had ever been able to do—not Ikora, nor Asher Mir. No, The Drifter lent her the courage she needed to allow herself brutally human experiences, and then encouraged her not to apologize for them. Oh, how grateful she was for this man!
It had been right...so very right to come to him. Even in the night, when she had stolen his time away from sleep, away from peace—he had still opened his door, and Eris did not know how to repay him for it.
They sat side by side, inches apart with eyes locked in an unblinking gaze. That something...that silent something which had no name passing between them. Both laid bare—she unveiled, and he without his head wrapped in mourning.
His hair was a bit longer than she expected. Without the bandana to push it back, the ends fell before his eyes, and the striking contrast of black against the blue was nearly mesmerizing.
His hair was long when I first met him...
It had always stood out.
And his eyes.
She had always remembered his eyes. That was something she could never forget.
He had stood so average...so plain. But oh—how he had smiled with his eyes!
"When the time comes—will he kneel at your feet and worship you?"
Eris' blood ran cold. The voice of her companion cutting into their moment of peace—
"Will he love you, Dark Queen?"
A sharp pain in her skull, and Eris flinched. Something sick filling her.
No...please...go away! Go AWAY!
The Drifter must have sensed something was amiss, for his smile fell, and Eris could see concern fill his eyes.
"Would you command him to love you? You could do it."
Her breath hitched, and she began to pant. Trembling hands upon her lap, teeth beginning to chatter, and she watched the man's eyes—those strangely blue eyes—move over her in worry.
"Do it—make him love you—"
Stop! Stop! STOP!
She brought a shaking hand to the side of her head, grasping tightly for relief.
Then it hissed...
"...you witch..."
It was chaos.
Eris had leapt to her feet, grabbing the bag from where it still hung on the back of her chair, and with all her might, she hurled it across the room and into the far wall.
A distressed Squeak!, and Chim-Ung jerked back upon his pillows as the bag came crashing down beside the sofa.
"SHUT-UUUUUUUPPPPPP!" Eris screamed with every bit of air she had in her lungs, "JUST SHUT-UP!"
She gasped, nearly doubling over as she struggled to breathe, "YOU PATHETIC DISGUSTING PARASITE!"
Another trembling breath as her lungs shuddered, a whizzing growing with every exhale she issued.
"ONE MORE WORD AND I'LL OBLITERATE YOU!"
It wasn't an empty threat—she would! She would do it!
She coughed, a sickening wet hack within her chest, and the room began to spin.
"Hey, darlin'! Easy now!"
She whipped around to face The Drifter, who had also stood, gazing at her in complete disbelief and concern. It was real, it was sincere—he was clueless! Hunched over, one hand upon her knee to support herself, Eris raised her other to point at the pack, now lying in a heap upon the floor.
"Do you..." She rasped, a wet choking sound in her lungs, "Do you know what that thing is?!"
She continued to struggle, black teasing at the corner of her eyes as she watched the man at the table. He stared at her...searching, but there was something else as well...
There's something...something...he's staring at me...he...he knows something!
"It's an Ahamkara." His tone was devoid of all emotion. Spoken so matter-of-factly that it sent Eris into further distress.
He knows! Heknowsheknowsheknows HE KNOWS! CAN HE HEAR IT TOO?!
She panted. Harder, and harder still—until she could contain it no longer.
Pain.
Sorrow.Humiliation.
The cold above. The silk beneath. The warmth beside.
Make it stop...make it STOP!
A sputter, then she burst into hysterics. Screaming her anguish in a piercing shriek that broke through the memories—through the air around her. All that she felt bellowing forth in an exclamation of pure anguish.
NO MORE!
"IT DID THIS TO ME!" She sobbed, "MADE ME INTO—" Her hands flailed, reaching up to tear at her hair, "—THIS!"
She watched him...watching her carefully; remaining impassive.
"I LIED TO EVERYONE! I LIED, I LIED!" She screamed her voice raw. Something snapping in the back of her throat—she might of broken a cord...what did it fucking matter?!
"I MADE A WISH! I WAS SCARED TO DIE! I DIDN'T WANT TO DIE!"
The confession. That which she had kept hidden from everyone.
She coughed, and hacked. Doubling over as sobs wracked her entire frame. Memories slamming into her. Relentless. Merciless—
Empty sockets where eyes once lay. She could see nothing of the room—could only imagine the massive ceiling she lay beneath.
The silk she lay atop.
Sweat upon her brow, blood upon her lips—sobbing, yet unable to shed tears.
"Please!" She begged...she pleaded, "Let me die! I'll do anything—just let me diiieeeeee!"
A voice answering—whispering:
"But would you do anything to live?"
Her unforgivable mistake—her cowardice!
"I WAS A COWARD!" She sobbed harder, "I DIDN'T REALLY WANT TO DIE! I WAS SO...SO SCAAAAARRREEEDDDD!"
She bawled, saliva sliding down her chin as her eyes burned fiercely. Gruesome—ugly...and yet, he continued to watch her. Stalk still.
Ancient tapestries that honored the Gods. Windows too high to climb. It was cold...so very cold...
Denied fire. Denied anything in which to wrap herself in warmth.
"You impudent child!" That evil woman's cruel voice! "Sleep upon the stones and pity yourself!"
Chains weighing her down.
The truth...the horrible truth...she would tell him the truth...
Yes! Let him hear the truth and watch him judge me! Finally, he will judge me!
"The rumors are true you know!" She gritted her teeth beneath trembling lips as she stared into him, "About Crota's harem..."
She shuddered, and swung her arm; as though to strike the words from the air itself.
"IT'S ALL TRUE!"
At her admission, she watched his face grow pallid, and those eyes of his...
Go ahead, Raggedy-Man—JUDGE ME!
Still, he said nothing.
"I didn't want to die...I didn't want to die..." Her voice dissolved into a squeak, reflecting how pitiful she truly was inside. What a waste she was...
"You were not meant to see that." A crushing grip upon her face, a booming voice—the burn of his breath upon her.
She hated him! HATED HIM!
"You looked when you shouldn't have—such a sad waste."
That piercing sting! Claws that plucked her sight away— s creaming and screaming.
She gasped and sputtered, wobbling on weak legs—nearly folding in half. She looked up at the man and waited. Waited for his verdict, waited for his condemnation—but still, he did not move.
He watched her carefully, eyes filled with the unexpected glow of—
Compassion. Empathy.
No...I don't understand...WHY?!
Stillno pity! No judgement!
HOW?!
She nearly toppled to the floor as a powerful cough shook her very bones, and she tottered about like a drunk.
Oh...there's so much more to tell! SO MUCH MORE!
"I made a deal with this vile creature!" She gestured to the bag once again, "He would get me out of the pit, if I took him with me..."
"Would you do anything to live?"
"...yes..."
"So I did!" She shook, and nearly buckled, "I made the deal—he gave me new eyes...he disguised me...and I took him and ran!"
Bare feet echoing upon tiled floor. Blood on her arms...on her hands...
Running—panting and sobbing.
"A thousand times..." She hissed, "A thousand times I had tried to escape! Only to get lost in the tunnels—"
Stumbling in the dark. Body shivering from the cold. Cutting her flesh upon rock.
"But they found me every time—"
Laughing...mocking! Watching her from the shadows...they toyed with her! Allowing her some semblance of hope—only to sweep her up and carry her back...back to her prison.
"Such an ungrateful little wretch, you are!"
Her voice—that jealous evil woman!
"Gifted such fine clothes!" She had spat at her, "Given food and wine—So ungrateful!
She had struck her...had struck her over and over—
"You should be honored, ugly little creature!"
Omnigul.
Oh, how she had hated her!
It is done now. It is over—No...wait... Is it truly?
The room was tilting...Eris was tilting, and all at once her legs gave out. Crashing down upon the rug. Lying in a heap, panting for breath that was desperately trying to keep her alive, sending her body into near seizures.
She fought—she fought so hard! Anger and hatred that fueled her. That need...that desire for retribution. NO! Not retribution...revenge.A sharp pain within her head. The skipping of her heart—and realization flooded her in memory. The memory of her dreams. Of why she had come this night in the first place.
My vengeance...my retaliation.
If what she had seen was the truth...the undeniable, the inescapable— then her wrath would truly be glorified. And it frightened her even more than the memories. A shudder as she inhaled, a breath to calm herself. Fingers clawing on the textile beneath her, as Eris began to slowly push herself up—burning eyes peering at The Drifter through strands of unkempt hair. He had not moved. Had not spoken. Eyes unblinking, patiently waiting.
It was maddening!
"Well?! Say something?!" She snapped, baring her teeth like a rabid animal.
Still, he did not react.
"Speechless?! Of all the times I had desired your silence, nowyou grace me with it?!"
Nothing.
It infuriated her! Drove her harder into frenzy! Remembrances of the dream pounding in her head—
Sitting upon a throne of thorns to match her crown— Blood on her hands—the blood of her enemies. Of those who had enslaved her, beaten her, humiliated her!
A bark of fury escaping her, head bowed towards the floor once more, her lungs spasming at the onset of hyperventilation.
I can't breathe...I can't breathe!
If only the void could swallow her up. Take her faraway into a purgatory where she could be safe form other's cruelty—a place where shecould do no harm.
What was theirs was now HERS. Their titles, their thrones, their crowns...their power.
A shudder—then another, and another. A clenching at her heart.
And all it took...was the acceptance of an offer made in the darkest of places.
If the universe was to be saved...would Eris have to die? She had searched for so long, trying to find that final element that would bring salvation. Grant her vengeance, not only for herself, but for the destruction of her team. Bring about a way to save the innocent...
But...
Am I the missing link? Would my death be the only way to save them all?
She didn't like what she was seeing—she didn't like what was being demonstrated! She had succeeded, but at what cost?!
A hiccup slammed into her lungs, and her body shook violently.
I can't breathe! I'm going to be sick!
That churning in her stomach—she feared she truly would be sick!
Please...please...
Footsteps upon the rug, and in an instant, legs came down to kneel before her. Eris stiffening as strong hands grasped her upper arms, and gently pressed, coaxing her to sit upright. She allowed it. The touch of power and strength causing the fight to flee from her, and she came back to sit upon her heels; eyes shifting to meet The Drifter's. Calm and collected. There was a commanding presence about him, something so virile and firm, that in the spasm of her anxious state, Eris felt strength beginning to envelope her once more. Feeding off of him...drawing from him.
She didn't resist as he took up her hands and brought them to her face, cupping them over her nose and mouth, forcing her to rebreathe. Trying to calm her, to bring her back to herself—
"Breathe. Just breathe."
Her heart leapt into her throat. Those words...his voice...
I've heard this before.
Trembling and struggling to slow her breath, her eyes met his as he kept her hands pressed to her face; holding them while she regathered her strength.
"It's alright, darlin'." His voice just above a whisper, "You're with me right now, and everythin' is alright."
Her spirit could have left her body in that instant. The manner in how he spoke those words; the genuineness of it all. Eris released another sob, shoulders shaking, and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Just breathe...he's right...I'm not alone now. I'm safe.
Even so, she could not hold back a whimper, and the hiccup which followed was the most pitiful of sounds.
"Shhhhh..." He shushed, and she felt his hands lift from her own, coming to run along her upper arms in a soothing gesture, "Shhh...just breathe. You're alright."
She had never heard him sound so delicate before. In fact, she had never thought he was capable of speaking in such a manner at all, and in that moment, Eris accepted the fact that The Drifter had become a soft place to fall.
This rat. This inglorious swindler. How strongly he could stand each time he was forced to catch her. A deep breath, followed by another. The soothing exhales, the feeling of his fingers gently massaging her arms and shoulders, she was sinking into it all.
Safe. With him.
A mantra inside her head—
I'm safe with him.
An undeniable truth. Trust. In fact, the part of her that would have cringed from physical contact had strangely...vanished. She did not feel the urge to pull away, to strike him...to demand he remove his hands. No—she was welcoming it. The shock of this revelation...and yet, she felt oddly calm. At peace. With confidence renewed, Eris slowly lowered her hands and began to breathe on her own. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Eyes closed, seeing only a sky filled with clouds in her mind's eye; gently sailing through the atmosphere. Free. Untouched.
The way she used to be.
Then she heard his voice breaking through her serenity—
"Ya need to rest."
Pointed. Candid. She agreed. She was tired, so horrendously tired, and she had kept him from his own repose long enough.
I should go.
Opening her eyes, preparing to speak her gratitude and then find her way back to her ship—he stopped her:
"You're stayin' here tonight, darlin'."
What? No...
She startled in the face of his command. The overly modest portion of her nature already taking argument and offense to the very idea—but she had slept upon his floor before, true?
That time...with the rum.
Yes, she had passed out upon the rug with The Drifter at her side...and nothing had changed. She had maintained her propriety, and he had been ever respectful in that regard. Quite virtuous, really. Be that as it may— despite the casual nature of every interaction they had ever engaged in...something felt different this time.
The proverbial butterflies in her stomach...
"No, I..." Her voice was a croak, and she cleared her throat to begin again, "I will not take advantage of your hospitality."
There was still a tremor in her voice, body filled with adrenaline not yet depleted. He chuckled in response to her words, and even Eris had to admit, she sounded rather strange. After all that had just transpired—the madness, the fury, the emotional wreckage that unfolded before his eyes...she still had enough force of will to be prim and proper in her answer.
A small grin upon his lips, his face beginning to show signs of fatigue, "You're stayin' here tonight, and that's the last word."
His tone insinuated that any argument on the matter would be ignored, and she startled when Chim-Ung suddenly leapt from his perch and flew from the room. Now puzzled by the Ghost's actions, flustered by The Drifter's touch, and weak from her hysterics—Eris did not have the will to argue. In fact, he was acting more practical than she.
To try and journey back to Luna...like this...
A sigh passed her lips, and she hung her head, nodding in an expression of surrender.
Just for the night.
He held onto her arms as he rose to his feet, bringing her to stand with him, but when her weight shifted back onto stick legs, they nearly buckled once more. Too weak...too discouraged. Her body had very little left to give.
I've grown so gaunt—so very pathetic.
Once, she had been strong. Lean and full of energy. Her body had been built for the hunt, for climbing cliffsides, and swimming across lakes. But now—
How repulsive I've become.
"Easy, hun." He steadied her as she slipped forward once more, grabbing onto his arms to try and straighten herself.
Pins and needles. Spasms in what little muscle she had left, and Eris clung to him just a little too tightly. But he said not a word about it, stepping a bit closer to give her leverage.
"Here," He gestured behind her with his chin, "Let's get ya to the couch."
Turning was an issue, but with his aide, she managed to shuffle about, feet dragging slowly across the rug, as he directed her towards the sofa from behind. Her entire form felt weighed down—far too heavy than it should and she found herself relying upon his strength to keep her upright. Hands still upon her arms, she could feel his chest bump against her back as they moved.
The pillow fort Chim-Ung had made for himself lay in waiting, and a thought struck her—
"No, I can't sleep here..." Her tone was listless, "This is Chim-Ung's bed."
"The hell it is!" The Drifter scoffed, "His sorry ass can sleep somewhere else."
"I can utilize the floor." She offered, but that earned her arms a squeeze.
"Ya ain't sleepin' on the floor! Will ya just lay down and quit creatin' problems where there are none?"
She was not creating problems. She just did not wish to be rude. The floor was good enough for her.
She paused when they reached the sofa. Gazing down at the small indentation where his Ghost had laid. She hesitated, worry that she was being ill-mannered growing with each second—but the brush of something at her jaw, and warm breath upon her made her stiffen.
"Just lie down, Moondust." A whisper, and Eris was nearly paralyzed. The feel of his beard at her neck, the tip of his nose just glancing her hair, and his lips at her ear—
A shiver passed through her, not of fear or revulsion...
Why am I so feeble now? Am I finally coming completely apart?
A gentle push, a coaxing, and she no longer had the will to resist. She came to sit upon the sofa, bringing her legs up to lie upon her side, as The Drifter released his hold on her arms. From over his shoulder, she caught the red-eye of Chim-Ung watching her carefully, and she worried once again that she had invaded the little light's sanctuary. Guilt and concern was taking hold, and she began to convince herself that she should be more courteous and sleep upon the floor. It did not bother her—she had slept in far worse places.
But the little light came closer, his eye breaking apart with a beam of light as he materialized a simple dark blue blanket which the Drifter caught midair.
Oh...he had fetched that for me...
Her heart ached when she realized the Ghost had fled the room to retrieve it just for her, and her jaw tightened as she tried to hold back the new rush of feeling that was threatening to spill forth. Her fatigue was encompassing, as her head came to rest upon the cluster of pillows, and she could only lay in a state of lethargy as The Drifter unfolded the blanket and carefully draped it over her.
It was soft—not heavy at all, and she curled beneath it just the slightest bit; trying to pry as much comfort from it as she could. The gratitude swelling inside of her was threatened by the guilt she felt over the fuss she had caused.
Taking Chim-Ung's bed from him.
But it wasn't just that. No, it was all the times she had invaded The Drifter's space. Had eaten his food without compensation, taken his time, tried his patience with her traumas.
Why not throw me out? Why continue this routine?
Yes. Surely, she was the catalyst of misfortune.
Those dreams...
That twisted feeling inside her began to grow. That thought she had been burying. Denying...
Visions of the future.
No!
A future where she bends—
I refuse to believe it!
Where she obtains everything she ever wanted—
The things that are to come...
The Drifter cut into her anxious musings—
"G'night, sistah." He offered her a small smile, turning away to leave her to rest.
Her tormented thoughts interrupted—her eyes locking upon him.
And the things that are never meant to be...
Her hand shot out, grabbing his wrist; halting him. He couldn't leave her...not yet! Her fingers clutching so tightly, she could see her knuckles turn white, and The Drifter turned to her with a question in his eye that faded to concern when he caught sight of her trembling form. She couldn't help it—couldn't stop it. She was shaking beneath the blanket, a chattering in her bones that ached so deeply she felt she would fall to pieces. A state of fear she hadn't experienced since she had made a pact with a devil for a set of eyes that would cheat her death.
That fear of the unknown. She needed perspective, she needed a notion...and it seemed only The Drifter could give it to her.
"What if—" Her voice was tiny and hoarse, and she swallowed down the anguish as best she could, "What if vengeance is to be mine? What if I do something—awful once again simply to have it?"
Her hand trembled of its own volition. Licking her lips before she spoke the words that would convey everything she had buried inside.
"What would I become?"
A whisper of pure terror, and then silence fell. She watched him, looking for a sign that he would either confirm her fears or dash them, but his expression was impassive. He gave nothing of himself away. No confusion, no fear, nor any indignation of how he felt about her behavior. Nevertheless, his eyes bore into her own, and though she could not decipher anything from them, they were still the softest she had ever seen.
He never blinked, never removed his eyes from hers as he slowly lowered himself onto the floor; sitting beside the sofa. Then, reaching out, he gently took the hand that clutched his wrist into his own, and Eris gasped, eyes growing wide when she felt a warmth beginning to grow inside her.
It was the burn of his flame! Passed from himself to her.
A man made of fire.
Gently—ever so gently, he moved his fingers around her own, interlacing them until their palms pressed together. Then she felt the ripple of something benevolent—
His light...he's sharing his light!
Oh, she'd forgotten how glorious it felt! That peace, that security. Something so pure, and all she could do was squeeze his hand just a little tighter.
Their eyes locked, holding on to each other tightly, as did their hands, and a question rose within Eris. A question that was so very important, but she feared to ask aloud:
What does he see when he looks at me?
"Long ago, there was a girl who had no name." His gentle voice began to speak, "For you see...on the day she was born, when she was laid in the arms of her mother, it was asked what name she would be given—"
Eris' heart began to race— He was telling her a story. He was giving her one of his stories—and she could feel the enchant of delight beginning to break free of the gloom.
He went on:
"But her mother didn't know what name would be best, and had no answer to give. So, she was handed to her father, but no name came to him either. She was passed to the doctor, but he could think of nothing—then, she was handed to the old man of the village, but unfortunately names were elusive to him."
A shiver of delight passed through her, as he began to rub his thumb gently along the side of her hand; fingers still clutched together.
"They asked the potter—she didn't know. They asked the tiller—he didn't know either. And so it went that not one person in the entire village could think of a single name."
He sighed, bringing a bit of drama into his delivery, "Finally, one of the children pointed out the most sensible thing in the world— something that had eluded all the grown-ups! Cause ya see..."
He leaned forward slightly, something conspiratorial rising in his tone, "Grown-ups don't know how to see the simple and the plain. Not like children do—oh no." He shook his head and grinned, "Children aren't bothered by the ridiculous mechanics of the grown-up world. They see only the glory of the world around them. Life is simple. Life is easy."
There was so much truth in what he said.
"The child spoke: 'Go to the Old Mother. She'll know a good name!' And so they did! The whhhooole village got together and made a procession! Carrying the baby girl to the edge of the forest, to a tiny house that stood near a pond. The place where the Old Mother lived."
Eris could see it—A hut of sticks and stones, shaded beneath the cool canopy of trees that stretched towards the sun.
"And so, they lay the baby in the Old Mother's arms, and as she looked down with eyes that had seen so much of the world, she declared for all to hear: 'This child shall not be named.'
He cleared his throat: "Well, obviously everyone was confused, but they knew better than to question the word of the Old Mother, and so, they returned without a name."
Traveling on winding paths—down the mountains, towards a city far away. A place where others like her dwelled.
Eris remembered.
Talks of a name along the way. What she would be called. Playful ones, strong ones, delicate ones...
"So," The Drifter's tone held something curious, "As the years went by, and the baby grew from a little girl into a young woman, she began to question why no name had been given to her. For all around, others had names! Every day she would hear parents call to their children, and catch sight of lovers walking together, whispering each other's names—even the animals had titles! But not her...and it hurt so badly."
Once in the city, the weeks had passed...still, she had not taken a name.
He brought the elbow of his other arm up, leaning onto the cushion beside her head, bringing their faces closer together as he rested his chin in his hand. His eyes never broke from her own, and Eris felt her heart skip.
Perhaps it was from kindling the fire inside him, but the scent of magic around him grew ever stronger, and it wafted over her. Sweet and spicy.
"Then, one day—" He continued, "She finally asked her parents why they had not given her a name: 'Because...' they said, 'The Old Mother declared you should not have one.' And this simply confused her even more, for she did not understand why she had to be different from everyone else. She thought the Old Mother was being cruel, and so, she made up her mind to travel to the hut at the edge of the forest, that lay beside a pond, and ask for herself."
Being brought before The Speaker. Asking the question as to "why?" Why her?
"Through the forest and to the house beside the pond, the Old Mother came to greet the girl, and without fanfare or meaningless small-talk, the girl asked why she had not been given a name. 'You are not meant to be named.' the wise woman explained, 'No one shall give one to you. It is the way it must be.' And with that, the Old Mother closed the door and would say no more."
Asking the man...the prophet—and then walking away with disappointment in her heart.
There had been no answer—not one of any meaning.
"Well, the girl would have none of it!" He chuckled, "And so, she made a choice—if no one in the village would give her a name, then she would seek out someone who would. And so, she grabbed what little she needed, and set out on her own."
Pursuing answers. Wanting identity.
"Over hills, across rivers, through woods and glens—she sought out others, but the world was big. So very big, and the girl felt so small and so alone."
She had come to learn, she was not special at all.
"One day, she found a tiny village that stood upon stilts along a lake. Surely someone here would give her a name! And sure enough, she met an old fisherman untangling knots form his nets. 'Excuse me!' She cried, 'Can you give me a name?' The old fisherman looked at her like she were mad, and asked: 'Why do you not have one?' The girl cried, and explained how her family would not name her—and through her tears, the fisherman felt pity and so he picked a name: 'Amber.' He said, 'For that is the color of your eyes.' And the girl thought it was good enough, so she thanked the man."
She had tried different names—
"The girl decided to stay in the fisherman's village. She tried to live the life she thought an Amber would lead. She talked the way she thought an Amber would talk, and liked the things she thought an Amber would like—but it didn't feel right, and no matter how hard she tried, she simply could not be Amber."
None of them had stayed.
"So she took her things and left the village on the lake. Over hills, across rivers, through woods and glens—she walked again, until she found a village carved into the side of a cliff."
The Drifter smoothed his thumb across her hand once more, causing another shiver of delight.
"And there she met a weaver woman, dying wool in the sun. 'Excuse me!' The girl cried, 'Can you give me a name?'The weaver woman looked at her strangely and asked: 'Why would you ask for a name?' The girl cried again, and explained how she had been nameless since birth—and the weaver woman felt sad, and so picked a name: 'Raven.' She said, 'For that is the color of your hair.' And the girl thought this one too was good enough, thanked the woman, and walked away."
Something had been left behind in those days.
"The girl stayed in this village too, trying to live the life she supposed a Raven would live. She ate the foods she thought Raven would eat, she dressed the way she thought Raven would dress—but once again, it didn't feel right. And so she learned, that she was not Raven."
Trying to be like others. The power and the glory of those dressed in gilded armor—
"So, with her things gathered, she left the village and set out for another." He sighed, "But no matter where she went, no matter how many names people bestowed upon her...they never truly felt like her own. 'Ebony- for that is the color of your skin.' – 'Bliss- for that is how you smile.'On and on it went, until she had worn a thousand names...and discarded every single one of them."
A room lit only by a candle...tiny and sparse with no heat during the winter months. She had not much in her new life...just books she had collected. So many books!
"And as the time had slipped on by, the girl began to think about her own village. Of her family. Of the old mother...and a decision was made deep within her heart—"
Within a book, smelling of must and time—
"Over the hills..." His voice had softened, something playful in his tone, "...across rivers, through woods and glens—she returned to the hut that sat beside the pond, and the old mother came out to greet her once more."
She had read a name. A perfectly good name.
"The girl told the old mother all about her adventures. How she had been gifted so many names, and yet none of them had become her own. She wanted to know...to know why that was—but the old mother simply laughed. 'Of course none of them are your name! Did I not say that no one can give one to you?'And perhaps it had been the years spent away—perhaps it had been from the experiences of the world—but the girl did something she had not done before..."
He paused, a smile spreading across his face, as he whispered so gently, "She listened to the old mother's words."
Eris.
"In that moment, the girl had finally understood— she hadn't been denied a name...she would simply have to make one for herself. So, the girl gave herself a name—Destiny, for it was what she had made for herself."
And with that, he ended his story. Eris felt her face grow warm, something trying to claw its way from her chest as her breath was caught in her throat. Her lips trembled as she tried so hard to find words...to find something to say in return...
But then—he spoke again:
"Ya see, Moondust," He unlaced their fingers, "For all the calamities in the universe..."
Her body tensed, pulse racing in her ears as he reached for her—
"For all the shoulda's, the woulda's and the coulda's..."
She couldn't breathe! Couldn't breathe, as he brushed the hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear with the most tender expression.
"For all the maybes, all the questions as to who, and what—"
Oh...God...
His fingertips—running through her hair. Her body shaking beneath the blanket he had bestowed her.
"—the where and when," He tilted his head in his hand, "And most especially the why..."
His touch...his gentle touch...
"It will never, ever change the fact...that there is only one Eris Morn."
And when he looked down upon her, and she up at him—their noses nearly touching—with his fingers intwined in her hair, he told her another secret. A secret so plain and obvious.
How?
She felt the sting of tears wanting to fall, but she knew it was a phantom sensation. Much like a lost limb. For the eyes of a Hive were incapable of such expression.
How could this man—
They watched each other. Her lips trembling with emotion so powerful, made all the heavier at the benevolence in his own.
A question screaming in her head—something she could not ask him:
How could this man have ever—
Bliss, pure and absolute, as his fingers began to slowly make their way along her scalp—along the grotesqueness she had traded her life for. But it didn't seem to matter at all...and she shuddered as he continued; coaxing her into peace. Something she had never felt in this third life of hers.
The question—one born from an ugly truth:
...how could he have ever been a Dredgen?
It was a mystery that made her heart bleed, and she gazed upon him with a compassion to match his own. Two souls not yet lost, trying so hard to stay afloat in a sea of tragedies, and if they were to reach for one another...
His fingers left her hair, sliding slowly down— so slowly...
If they were to grab on to each other as tightly as they could...
Touching her skin—running along her cheek. Her shuddering breath, and trembling lips—no one had ever touched Eris Morn this way before.
If they could hold on to each other...then maybe...
Down her cheek, to her chin-
...maybe they could both be saved.
Her breath hitched, a tiny gasp escaping her as the tips of his fingers brushed across her lips. So subtle, so intimate a gesture, but then he gently pulled his hand away; taking some of the warmth with it. Eris couldn't help it, she fought back the whimper of disappointment that was threatening to spill forth. She hadn't wanted him to stop, and when she realized this, it brought embarrassment and shame down upon her.
What is wrong with me...what am I doing?
It didn't change the reality.
A soft smile upon his lips, and he whispered: "Go to sleep."
And with that, he stood, and turned away.
No...no, please stay...
She hadn't the courage to say it out loud. She was not brave enough to request this of him.
Please, stay with me.
If she were to ask...would he stay? If he were to stay...what would happen?
Heat in her face, a tremble so violent in her body that she clutched the blanket all the tighter about her—watching him. He did not meet her gaze. Instead, his eyes were fixed upon her bag, still lying on the floor. Silent. Finally silent. Then, without another word or a backwards glance, he reached down and scooped up the offending pouch. Making his way towards the exit, and turning off the lights as he did.
Then he was gone, taking her tormentor with him, and her heart ached all the more at this simple gesture of kindness. He was rescuing her. Giving her peace and quiet. That wicked bastard that she had indebted herself to...never letting her rest...never letting her forget...
The Drifter had brushed it all away. A least for the night. She nearly wept in gratitude.
The glow of safety lights kept the room from total darkness, and though Eris' eyes were developed for the night, the truth was...the truth is...she is horrendously, and thoroughly afraid of the dark. It was a shameful secret she had only ever shared with one other person—Asher. The fact, she was unable to sleep in total darkness; it was suffocating, all-consuming. How ridiculous! For she could see in the dark, but—
It's the thought of it.
The dim glow was most welcomed, and she lay upon her side, gazing out at the room with eyes that saw nothing of the world around her, only seeing what was in her mind's eye. Thoughts consumed by The Drifter's words. Images of his story playing out as she allowed the message, hidden in the lines, to continue its work; calming her mind, easing her soul.
I have not forgotten who I was.
This was the truth.
I still have insight—I have my agency.
Yes, she was not yet lost.
Just as HE was not yet lost.
She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly as she curled deeper beneath the blanket, allowing her head to sink into the pillows. She could smell the soap he used to wash the linen, but it was mixed with a sawdust like odor, and Eris couldn't help the amusement that rose within her.
The Drifter was a man who was always moving, building, creating. His skills in mechanics and smithing, and carpentry was imbedded in everything. It permeated the world around him, and she could smell it—feel it whenever he was near. It had become familiar and expected. A constant in her life that she now realized she could depend upon; security, stability. Things she had been denied for so long—but with him...
She thought, maybe...
A red glow from the corner of her eye, and she looked to see Chim-Ung peeking over the armrest at her feet. There was a bashfulness about him, as though he were worried that she would be most uncomfortable with his presence. But Eris found his sudden appearance most reassuring, and she welcomed it; offering him a small smile.
"Hello." She whispered, and he rose a little higher at her greeting; bringing his full shell into view.
"I do apologize for taking your spot." She continued, but the Ghost quickly shook himself. A gesture to assure her that she needn't apologize for anything.
But still, Eris felt she was an intruder.
She watched the little light for a moment, taking in his appearance. His shell...such a horrible sight! Red eye like that of a Vex—
Same as Asher's...
It made her stomach turn, made her heart ache.
Poor thing. How awful it must feel!
But...the Ghost had allowed it to happen. Chim-Ung had orchestrated everything. The sad reality, the unfortunate truth. Eris understood. It was that need of all living things—to survive.
I am guilty. I am a coward.
No. She would not think of such things.
She turned her attention back to the Ghost, and realized something— this was the first time they had both been left alone. Just the two of them. An opportunity she did not want to squander, for even though fatigue was pulling heavily at her mind and eyes, she wished to share in something with him.
"Orin named you Chim-Ung?"
It was a rhetorical question, but it was pertinent for what she truly wished to say.
"Do you miss her?" Her whisper sounded weak to her own ears, heart beating just a little faster.
There was a heaviness that descend upon the Ghost, something raw and human, and Chim-Ung slowly nodded. His eye drooped in a sorrowful manner, and the sight caused a lump to form in Eris' throat. She could sense the depth of the expression, the absolute admittance that he had loved the Awoken woman very much.
She swallowed, "I knew her. Not as well as I wish I could have..."
A woman made of stardust—surrounded by others who looked upon her with clear adoration. Even in the brilliance of noonday...she outshone the sun itself.
"But still," she continued, "I did have the honor of knowing Orin The Sunbreaker."
A pause. A moment to search her memories, while Chim-Ung slowly drifted closer; coming to rest upon the cushion beside Eris. Closer than he'd ever been, his eye bore into her own as he waited to hear more.
She offered him a another gentle smile, "She was so kind...and so beautiful—everywhere she went, people would stare."
Crowds would part for her, conversations would cease.
"I remember," Eris' whisper was merely a breath upon her lips, "I heard children turn to their mothers and say: "Oh...Mama, look! Look how pretty she is!""
Standing tall and moving with grace unmatched. Body lean in strength, yet womanly with those curves that drove men wild. Awoken eyes of silvery blue and cupid's bow lips which always wore a smile.
Who could ever possibly compare?
"Whispers and sighs..."
There was something churning inside of Eris. Something...very upsetting, and anxiety began to rear its head once more. She had always been in awe of Orin. Idolizing her. Wanting to be just like her.
I was so star-struck.
Those days of childish hero-worship. Orin had been an example to Guardians everywhere. An ideal.
But now—
Eris bore into Chim-Ung, who listened with such sincere interest and patience.
"Everyone loved her," She choked out, and she steeled herself; bracing for what she was about to say, "But he loved her most of all, didn't he?"
Her tone was hoarse, something deep inside trying to push its way to the surface, laced with anger and fear. The hardest part of all. The truth she knew, but was trying to deny.
"And he still does...doesn't he?" Her breath caught in her throat, a final whisper.
She already knew the answer, but still, the question wasn't rhetorical. She wanted confirmation, she wanted to truly know.
Why? It's none of my affair.
It was that constant need to simply...know.
And then, Chim-Ung's eye slowly moved over her face, and she could feel the sadness radiating from him. He was searching her, treating her gently...like a piece of porcelain that would shatter if he did not handle her correctly. He nodded.
A moment in time where everything came full circle.
Something burned behind Eris' eyes, and she closed them tightly. She knew...she had known the answer all along, and yet, she was confused.
What difference does it make? Why am I so...so...
This was the part that scared her the most, for there was an ache in her chest; a horrible weight which would surely crush her. It was nonsense.
Just let me fade away. Let me disappear.
How could it hurt so badly?
She felt the weight of Chim-Ung lift from the cushion. The Ghost must have taken her silence and the closure of her eyes as a dismissal; leaving her to sleep. But when she felt a sudden pressure at the crown of her head, she froze. Realizing Chim-Ung had come to lay upon her pillow, nestling into her hair. She could feel the heat of his light spreading down, into her face, her neck, her shoulders...It was a beautiful feeling. Warm and soothing. He was trying—trying so hard to let her know it was alright. That she would be alright.
How she hoped it would be true.
She breathed. Deep and shuddering. She would be alright, she would survive. Eris Morn always did. However, there was still that shame...the shame that she couldn't shake free of, for as she slipped away into slumber, encouraged by the warmth of Chim-Ung's companionship, Eris realized the cruel and malicious truth—
That she was beginning to despise Orin.
Notes:IN LORE: Tragically, it has been revealed within the Exo Stranger (Elsie Brays) timeline, that Eris Morn is in fact, the true Witch Queen.
In the future, Eris obtains her revenge. She manages to outwit Savathuan, kill her, and take her throne away. Becoming the new Witch Queen. Eris becomes the leader of the Hive, and fueled by anger and pain, decides to make a deal with the Darkness. She forms an army of Dark Guardians and other races that have embraced the Darkness, and lays siege upon Earth. She destroys the city, and manages to kill the Traveler.
She offers salvation to those who pledge loyalty to her, and proclaims that those who stand against her must die. She builds an empire and basically conquerors the known universe.
Mara Sov attempts to form an army and lead an attack to overthrow Eris. However, Ana Bray (who is now Eris' bodyguard and personal assassin) kills the Queen, and the mission to kill Eris fails. This leaves Elsie Bray as the last one standing who opposes her.
Sadly, The Drifter is also killed in the Deep Stone Crypt during an attempt to transfer himself into the body of an Exo. It's insinuated that he was attempting to execute some plan he had devised, but something went terribly wrong resulting in his death, and Chim-Ung is nowhere to be found.
For reasons unknown, Eris had spared The Drifter, and he is not among the dead at her hands.
Now, here's where it gets REALLY interesting:
Elsie revealed that in the thousands of futures she has witnessed, they all tragically end the same, with Eris falling to the Darkness. She explains that it's Eris' loneliness that eventually causes her to fall. Likewise, The Drifter finally loses the hope that had kept him alive for so long, and he eventually gives up on life.
Elsie claims they are both two very lonely people, and she believes there is a way to save them; thence why she summoned them both to Europa. She believes that in bringing them closer together as a team, it will help change the future.
So, it is officially confirmed that The Drifter and Eris Morn's destinies were always intertwined. That their lives coming together was an inescapable fate. However, how it ends is the question. There's much to speculate on.
IN LORE: The orb Eris carries is an Ahamkara bone. When she was originally in Ikora's fireteam, the two of them participated in the Great Ahamkara Hunt. After killing a particular one, they began to burn its body, but Eris was extremely curious...
So, when Ikora wasn't looking, Eris snatched up a bone shard and stuck it in her pocket. She kept it hidden for years and never told anyone what she had done.
Later, when she was trapped inside the Hellmouth, she was so desperate to live that the Ahamkara bone heard her cries and spoke to her; making a deal to save her life if she promised to take it with her. She agreed, but Ahamkara are tricksters, and in order for her escape to succeed, it gave her the appearance of a Hive so she could see in the dark and slip past the guards. Now, she's stuck carrying this bone around and listening to it whisper taunts and secrets.
ALSO IN LORE: The Dredgens did in fact have a ritual they had to endure and survive when they first came into the fold. They had to kneel in the Darkness and listen to the whispering of a thousand voices. The voices would look inside them and reveal a truth. Both The Drifter and Shin Malphur have spoken about this experience. The names of the Dredgens are actually virtues and flaws they possess. The Drifter had a heart filled with hope, and thence, he was named: "The Man Who Walks In Hope." He became the Dredgen of Hope.
Dredgen means "Eternal Abyss," which is basically the Hive equivalent of "Hell."
FUN FACT: Through concept art and modeling builds, Bungie has in fact revealed that the Hive do not have "horns". What we're seeing in game, is actually just cultural headdresses they wear, and in reality—the Hive were once a humanoid race much like the Awoken.
However, because of the infection of the worms, a "zombie" virus spread through them, causing them to mutate and deform into undead creatures. Beneath the headdresses and the armor, the Hive simply look like human zombies with three eyes.
So, Eris does in fact look like a Hive! She simply doesn't have the walking dead issue they've been cursed with.
